HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 


LIBRARY 


"  A  ray  of  sunlight  had  penetrated  through  the  window, 

and  had  made  a  pathway  of  brightness  across  the  dusky  chapel  to  the  spot 

where  Irene  stood."— Page  49. 


BY 


EMMA   MARSHALL, 

AUTHOR   OF    "  THE  OLD   GATEWAY  ;  "     "  VIOLET   DOUGLAS 
"  CHRIST  ABEL   KINGSCOTE,"   ETC.,    ETC. 


OMum." 


THIRD     THOUSAND. 


NEW  YORK : 
E.     P.     BUTTON    &     CO.,     713,     BROADWAY. 


WITH   WHOM   I   TREAD   THE   VALLEYS, 
AND   CLIMB   THE   MOUNTAINS 

OF  LIFE; 
IN   LOVING   MEMORY   OF 

THE   PAST, 

AND   IN   HOPE   FOR  THE   FUTURE, 
I   DEDICATE   THIS   STORY. 


Exeter, 
December,  1871. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

i.  FORTUNE'S  WHEEL 1 

II.    OLD  THINGS   AND  NEW       .  .       20 

in.  HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES          .         .         .43 
iv.  IRENE 64 

V.    GLIMPSES  OF   RODHAM    SOCIETY  .  .  .87 

VI.    IN    THE  CHAPEL 112 

VII.    AN   OLD    FRIEND   APPEARS             .            .            .    137 
VIII.    LIGHT  AND  SHADE 161 

ix.  "THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS"          .         .         .  189 

X.  SIR    JASPER   ONCE  MORE     .  .  .  .216 

XI.  GREAT   NEWS   FOR    RODHAM         .  .  .    240 

XII.  FLOWERS  OF  LOVE   AND   PEACE  .  .    266 

XIII.  WORK  AND   REST        .....    287 

xiv.  "DE  PROFUNDIS"  .  311 


HEIGHTS    AND    VALLEYS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


FOETUNE'S  WHEEL. 

"  Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile  or  frown. 
With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down  • 

Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great. 
Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  many  lands  r 
Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  our  own  hands  ; 

For  man  is  man,  and  master  of  his  fate. 
Turn,  turn  thy  wheel  above  the  staring  crowd — 
Thy  wheel  and  thou  are  shadows  in  the  cloud  : 

Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate." 

TENNYSON. 

THE  mists  of  early  morning  were  lifted  from  the  giant- 
Alps  of  the  Vallais,  and  the  sun,  just  risen  above  the  line 
of  the  eastern  horizon,  kindled  with  new-born  beauty 
every  feature  of  a  view,  of  which  few  can  be  found  more 
lovely  and  more  sublime.  From  the  garden  in  front  oi 
the  "  Trois  Couronnes,"  at  Vevay,  an  English  traveller 
looked  out  upon  the  mountains  and  the  blue  lake  of  Ge- 
neva, as  he  paced  the  terrace-walk,  his  knapsack  on  his 
shoulder  and  his  well-worn  alpenstock  in  his  hand.  He 
was  unencumbered  with  luggage,  and  as  several  groups  oi 
ladies  clustered  round  piles  of  boxes  and  enormous  rolls 


2  HEIGHTS   AND  VALLEYS. 

of  rugs  and  umbrellas,  he  gave  them  a  passing  look  of 
pity — especially  when  one  excited  matron  followed  the 
porteur  froi»  the  hotel  who  bore  her  burdens  before  her, 
exclaiming,— 

"  Am  I  too  late  ?  Can  you  tell  me  if  the  steamer  to 
Geneva  has  passed  1 " 

11  No,"  said  Philip  Dennistoun,  in  quiet,  deliberate  tones 
which  contrasted  forcibly  with  the  eager,  shrill  voice  of 
the  lady — "  we  have  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  wait." 

"  Oh,  thanks !  How  provoking  that  I  should  have 
hurried  !  It  is  most  exhausting  at  this  early  hour.  Now, 
my  dear  girls," — addressing  her  three  daughters, — "  are 
you  ready  1 " 

"  Of  course  we  are,  mamma  ;  we  are  all  ready  too  soon ; 
but  you  always  worry  so." 

Philip  Dennistoun  moved  away  and  resumed  his  lei- 
surely walk  up  and  down  the  terrace.  The  next  moment 
a  loud  halloo  !  made  him  turn  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  hotel. 

"  Dennistoun,  what  on  earth  are  you  so  early  for  ? 
There  is  no  hurry.  Come  in  and  have  a  last  word." 

"  Come  out  and  have  it,"  said  Philip. 

The  speaker  vanished  from  the  window,  and  soon 
appeared  in  a  somewhat  hurried  toilette  upon  the  scene 
of  action. 

"  Keep  off  from  the  Hen  and  Chickens,"  he  said,  with  a 
significant  nod  towards  the  group  of  ladies.  "  I  am  ter- 
ribly afraid  of  those  people ;  they  have  bothered  so  the 
last  three  days ;  it's  a  mercy  this  telegram  has  called 
them  home.  But  I  say,  old  fellow,  you  have  had  no  tele- 
gram, and  I  can't  imagine  why  you  don't  come  on  with 
me  to  Zermatt." 

"  I  have  had  my  time  on  the  mountains,  and  a  very 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  3 

good  time  too,"  was  the  answer.  "  If  you  had  wanted  my 
company,  Sandford,  you  should  have  made  better  plans." 

"  Plans !  I  never  have  a  plan.  I  go  where  the  spirit 
moves  me — here  or  there,  it  don't  matter." 

"  Not  to  a  man  whose  fortune  is  ready  made ;  but 
your  case  and  mine  are  different." 

"And  how  are  the  briefs  getting  on,  Philip ?  Are  you 
leading  counsel  yet  1" 

"  Not  exactly  :  but  I've  had  a  fair  picking  since  last 
year ;  the  tide  turned  then.  I  got  well  out  of  the  Tom- 
linson  case." 

"  That's  right ;  and  now  mind  you  look  us  up  at  Christ- 
mas. Why  have  you  fought  so  shy  of  us  of  late  ?  " 

"  I  might  ask  the  same  question  :  you  seem  to  forget 
the  way  to  8,  Codrington-place,  Kensington." 

"  No,  I  don't,  nor  that  dear  little  sister  of  yours  either. 
I  am  afraid  of  her  mother,  you  see ;  but  we  will  contrive 
to  meet  oftener.  There,  I  hear  the  hen  cackling  ;  depend 
upon  it  the  steamer  is  in  sight.  I  wonder  you  choose 
that  antiquated  mode  of  transit — now  locomotion  is  so 
much  quicker." 

"  I  always  like  a  farewell  steam  down  the  lake,  if  I 
have  not  time  to  walk." 

"  Well,  good-bye,  old  fellow.  Three  days  of  your  com- 
pany are  better  than  none.  They  are  making  for  the  boat 
now,  and  I  will  depart." 

The  two  friends  parted,  with  a  cordial  shake  of  the 
hands ;  and  as  George  Sandford  retreated  into  the  hotel, 
Philip  Dennistoun  went  on  board  the  little  steamer, 
which  made  wreaths  of  snowy  foam  in  the  sapphire  water, 
as  she  paused  for  a  few  minutes  to  give  other  tardy  pas- 
sengers a  chance  of  catching  her. 

There  was  some  little  delay,  and  the  lady  and  her  three 
B  2 


4  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

daughters,  the  old  gentleman  and  his  wife  and  servant, 
the  two  gaunt,  determined  spinsters,  with  their  Murray 
tightly  grasped  in  their  big,  doe-skin-gloved  fingers,  and 
the  poor  forlorn  little  governess,  who  shrank  timidly  from 
her  fellow-travellers  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  vessel, 
had  more  than  time  to  settle  themselves.  At  last  the 
wheel  was  turned,  and  La  Belle  Cygne  was  leaving  the  small 
jetty,  from  which  the  passengers  had  stepped  upon  her  deck. 
Then  an  halloo,  louder  than  the  first,  made  every  one 
start 

"What  can  that  feUow  Sandford  want  1"  Philip  ejacu- 
lated, half  wrathfully.  Then,  in  answer  to  the  shout  of 
"  Dennistoun  !"  he  called  out,  "  What  now  1" 

The  captain,  imagining  that  the  gentleman's  frantic 
gestures  were  intended  for  him,  gave  the  word  "  Tenez  !  " 
and  La  Belle  Cygne  lay-to  once  more. 

"  Did  you  look  at  the  '  Times '  last  night  ] "  roared 
George  Sandford,  as  Philip  leaned  over  the  side  of  the 
little  vessel  to  come  within  earshot  of  his  noisy  friend. 
"  Yes." 

"  The  advertisement  sheet  ] " 
"No." 

"Then  look  here; "and,  regardless  of  consequences, 
George  rolled  up  the  paper  and  threw  it  on  board,  hitting, 
as  he  did  so,  the  large  brown  hat  with  which  one  of  the 
determined-looking  maiden  ladies  had  hid  her  face  from 
the  rays  of  the  sun  and  from  too  curious  observation. 

Philip  picked  it  up  as  it  fell,  and  apologised  courteously 
for  the  accident.  The  lady  looked  unutterable  things, 
and  grimly  remarked  to  her  companion  that  she  supposed 
they  should  be  detained  another  half-hour  to  suit  this 
gentleman's  convenience.  But  Philip  scarcely  heard,  or 
heeded  if  he  heard.  Amidst  the  noise  of  the  paddle-wheels 


FORTUNE  S   WHEEL.  O 

and  the  gurgling  of  tlie  water,  he  caught  George  Sandford's 
parting  words,  "  Old  Dennistoun,  of  Rockdeane,  is " 

The  rest  was  lost.  Philip  quietly  resumed  his  seat, 
unfolded  the  crumpled  paper,  glanced  down  the  announce- 
ments on  the  first  column,  and  read, — 

"On  September  14,  at  Rockdeane  Park,  Sir  Jasper 
Dennistoun,  Bart.,  aged  81." 

For  a  few  moments  Philip's  mind  refused  to  acknow- 
ledge the  importance  of  that  announcement  to  himself. 
It  had  come  so  unexpectedly  ;  for,  though  Sir  Jasper  was 
an  old  man — as  age  is  counted  by  years — he  was  con- 
sidered hale  and  strong.  Philip  knew  that  his  father 
had  been  the  next  heir,  and  that,  as  he  was  dead,  he 
stood  in  his  place,  the  head  of  a  family  which  was 
so  old  that  few  could  rival  it  on  the  pages  of  the  peerage — 
heir  to  the  stately  mansion — the  stern  grandeur  of  which 
he  had  heard  described,  though  he  had  never  seen  it, — 
possessor,  too,  of  the  princely  fortune,  which  had  accumu- 
lated through  two  generations  of  Dennistouns,  who  had 
lived  in  seclusion  and  solitude,  and  had  dispensed  scarcely 
a  tithe  of  an  income  derived  from  one  of  the  finest  rent 
rolls  in  England.  But  not  one  of  the  anxious  eyes  fixed 
on  Philip  Dennistoun,  as  La  Belle  Cygne  cleft  the  waters 
of  Lake  Leman,  pausing  here  and  there  at  Lausanne, 
Merges,  or  Nyon  for  passengers,  guessed  that  the  paper 
now  thrust  under  the  strap  of  his  knapsack,  contained 
any  news  which  particularly  affected  him.  He  leaned 
over  the  vessel,  looking  a  farewell  to  the  snow  mountains 
familiar  to  his  eyes  from  long  acquaintance,  in  many  an 
autumn  excursion.  Calm  and  grand  they  stood,  in  the  pure 
clear  air  of  as  lovely  a  September  day  as  ever  dawned 
upon  them,  wearing  their  crown  of  spotless  beauty 
unaltered  and  undi aimed,  affected  by  none  of  the  changes 


&  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

which  swept  over  the  world  below  them.  High  above 
them  all,  in  the  passionless  perfection  which  from  afar 
strikes  us  with  love,  which  is  mixed  with  awe,  and  which 
on  a  nearer  approach  gives  us  a  half  defined  longing  for 
something  warmer  and  more  tender,  for  which  our  human 
hearts  are  ever  wont  to  yearn. 

Philip  Dennistoun's  life  for  the  last  eight  years  had 
been  a  somewhat  uphill  path ;  it  had  been  a  struggle  for 
success  in  the  profession  he  had  chosen,  and  there  had 
been  the  usual  amount  of  discouragement  and  disappoint- 
ments, of  checks  and  hindrances.  There  was,  however,  in 
his  nature  a  love  of  work  and  effort ;  he  liked  to  climb 
and  to  depend  upon  his  own  exertions. 

Just  as  to  his  strongly  made  frame  physical  exertion 
was  a  positive  enjoyment,  so  was  real  tough  brain  work  a 
true  pleasure  to  his  mind.  How  often  had  he  turned 
homewards  after  an  expedition  like  this,  at  the  close  of 
which  we  find  him,  braced  for  the  winter's  labour, 
invigorated  and  strengthened,  anxious  perhaps,  and  it 
might  be  doubtful,  but  always  ready  to  meet  and  over- 
come difficulties. 

How  then  in  a  few  hours  the  whole  aspect  of  life  had 
changed  for  him  !  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly 
lifted  to  one  of  his  favourite  points  amid  the  rocks  and 
glaciers,  and  had  found  himself  transported  in  a  moment 
with  no  toilsome  ascent  to  the  Col  de  Collon  or  Les 
Grands  Mulcts.  It  would  have  been  doubtful  satisfaction 
in  the  one  case,  and  it  was  scarcely  hearty  satisfaction  in 
the  other.  But  as  he  thought,  the  horizon  grew  wider ; 
there  would  be  a  field  before  him  for  energy  and  usefulness, 
and  he  might  climb  with  even  surer  steps,  as  Sir  Philip 
Itennistoun  of  Rockdeane,  than  as  Philip  Dennistoun, 
beginning  to  be  known  in  the  circuit  as  a  man  who  would 


FORTUNE  S   WHEEL.  7 

find  himself  a  Q.C.  at  thirty-five,  possibly  a  judge  before 
he  had  counted  another  ten  years.  Philip  Dennistoun 
was  awoke  from  his  dream  of  the  past  and  the  future  by 
the  arrival  of  the  steamer  at  Geneva.  He  had  been 
entirely  unmindful  of  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  old  lady 
and  her  daughters,  whose  sharp  ears  had  caught  his 
friend's  announcement :  "  Old  Dennistoun  of  Rockdeane, 

is ."  It  was  easy  to  supply  the  word  and  to  connect 

the  name  Dennistoun  with  the  letters  P.  J.  D.  on  the  little 
black  travelling  apparatus  which  Sir  Philip  bore  so  lightly 
on  his  shoulder,  as  he  prepared  to  leave  La  Belle  Cygne. 

"  Mamma,"  said  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  party 
irreverently  called  by  George  Sandford  the  "  Hen  and 
Chickens,"  "  I  feel  certain  that  man  is  some  one  of  distinc- 
tion. I  should  not  wonder  if  it  turns  out  that  that  old 
Dennistoun  is  Sir  Jasper,  and  that  this  is  his  heir." 

"  Nonsense,  Margaret,"  interposed  one  of  the  sisters  ; 
"as  if  a  man  could  look  like  that,  if  he  had  come  into 
a  place  like  Rockdeane." 

"  Quite  absurd,"  exclaimed  another,  while  the  mother, 
who  had  counted  all  her  boxes  and  parcels  till  she  was 
utterly  bewildered,  could  only  entreat  her  daughters  not 
to  talk  so  loud,  and  to  be  sure  that  the  little  bag  with  the 
straw  bottom  was  not  overlooked  in  the  transit  to  the 
railway  station.  Philip  cared  nothing  about  the  troop 
of  ladies  or  their  infinite  number  of  boxes ;  he  strode 
away,  his  knapsack  on  his  shoulder,  his  alpenstock  in  his 
hand,  seemingly  unmindful  of  the  needs  or  anxieties  of 
his  fellow  travellers.  But  it  was  nob  altogether  so. 
The  little  timid  governess,  who  was  going  back  to  a 
second-rate  school  at  Brighton  after  the  holidays, 
to  resume  her  weary  task  of  instructing  stubborn 
English  tongues  in  the  pronunciation  of  German  and 


8  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

somewhat  Helvetian  French,  remembered  for  many  a 
day  the  chivalrous  courtesy  of  the  Englishman,  whose 
hand  was  ready  to  help  her  when  she  ascended  the  steps 
of  the  pier,  and  who,  throughout  the  long  journey  in  a 
second-class  railway  carriage  to  Paris,  lost  no  opportunity 
of  showing  some  care  for  her  welfare  and  comfort. 

"  He  is  going  second  class,  Margaret,"  one  of  the  three 
sisters  exclaimed  triumphantly,  when  Philip  disappeared 
from  the  crowd  on  the  platform,  and  was  seen  by 
Margaret's  sisters  to  enter  a  carriage  on  which  was 
painted  "  Seconde."  "  I  told  you  he  could  not  be  anyone." 

"  I  take  it,  if  he  had  gone  troisieme  it  would  have 
settled  the  question  more  decidedly  in  my  favour,"  was 
the  reply ;  "  you  have  such  vulgar  ideas  about  things, 
Mary." 

"  Thanks  for  your  kind  opinion  of  me,"  was  the  sar- 
castic reply ;  and  then  the  heavily  laden  train  lumbered 
out  of  the  station,  and  soon  Geneva,  and  its  blue  lake 
and  snow-crowned  mountains,  were  left  far  behind. 

A  loud  ring  at  the  bell  startled  the  inhabitants  of  8, 
Codrington-place,  Kensington,  the  next  evening. 

"  It  must  be  Philip,  Mamma,"  exclaimed  a  young  girl, 
dancing  to  the  door  of  the  pretty  little  drawing-room 
where  she  and  her  mother  were  sitting.  "It  must  be 
Philip  !  " 

There  was  not  much  time  left  for  doubt  or  for  question, 
as  the  hall  door  was  opened,  and  a  breath  of  keen  fresh 
air  rushed  in.  Rosie  was  caught  by  her  brother's  strong 
arm,  and,  springing  up  to  bring  her  face  on  a  level  with, 
his,  heard  only,  "  Don't  strangle  me  !  " 

"  Is  it  really  you,  Philip  1 "  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun, 
rising  from  a  luxurious  chair  by  the  fire,  and  laying  aside 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  9 

a  roll  of  many-coloured  worsted  work,  in  which  she  had 
been  engrossed  when  the  bell  rung.  "  We  are  very  glad 
to  see  you." 

hilip  touched  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  cheek  with  his  lips, 
and  pressed  her  hand  warmly. 

"  Where  is  Jasper  1  "  he  asked. 

"  Gone  to  bed  with  a  bad  headache.  They  have  been 
playing  a  match  to-day  at  Lord's,  and  he  has  been 
watching  it,  and  he  got  over-heated.  Now,  Philip, 
what  will  you  have — tea,  or  coffee,  or  anything  more 
substantial  1  Ring  the  bell,  Rosie,  or  go  and  tell 
Wright  to  put  everything  we  have  into  the  dining-room." 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  old  Philip,  isn't  it  nice  to  have  you  !  " 
and  again  the  little  lady  sprang  to  her  brother's  neck, 
and,  in  spite  of  remonstrance,  got  as  many  kisses  as  she 
wanted. 

"I  met  a  friend  of  yours,  Rosie,"  he  said,  as  Rosie 
went  off  to  give  Wright  her  orders  ;  "  George  Sandford 
spent  three  days  with  me  in  Switzerland.  He  is  just  the 
same  dreamy,  idle  fellow  as  ever,  but  jolly  enough  in 
spite  of  it." 

Then,  as  Rosie  shut  the  door,  after  giving  her  head  a 
significant  toss,  Philip  turned  to  Mrs.  Dennistoun.  "  I 
have  not  told  you  my  news,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  started.  "Has  that  brought  you 
home  earlier,  Philip  1  Who  is  the  lady  ]  " 

"  There  is  no  lady  in  the  case,  mother  ;  it  is  only  that 
old  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun  is  dead ;  and  I  am,  I  suppose, 
Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  of  Rockdeane." 

"  Philip  !  "  Mrs.  Dennistoun  could  not  get  out  another 
word.  "  Philip  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  death  was  in  the  '  Times '  several  days  ago. 
Are  there  no  letters  for  me  1  " 


10  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"Yes,  in  your  study,  where  you  always  desire  they 
should  be  put." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  find  some  official  announcement  of 
the  event  from  the  family  lawyer,"  Philip  said,  turning 
to  the  door.  "  Is  there  a  light  in  the  study  1  " 

"  No ;  but  wait.  I  will  come  with  you,  and  light  the 
gas." 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  took  up  a  box  of  matches,  and  pre- 
ceded Philip  up  the  staircase  to  the  room  over  the  back 
drawing-room,  which  was  designated  Philip's  study,  and 
it  was  soon  brilliantly  illuminated. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  watched  Philip's  face  as  he  turned 
over  the  pile  of  letters  which  awaited  him.  There  was 
silence  for  a  few  minutes,  while  Mrs.  Dennistoun  busied 
herself  by  setting  light  to  the  fire  already  laid  in  the 
grate,  settling  the  collection  of  stones  and  crystals  and 
bits  of  Swiss  carving  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  scarcely 
able  to  conceal  her  impatience.  She  knew  her  stepson 
too  well  to  question  him,  and  he  had  seated  himself  by 
his  writing-table  as  quietly  as  he  did  everything  else, 
singling  out  the  letter  with  the  Rodham  postmark, 
opening  it,  and  reading  it  in  a  deliberate  fashion  peculiar 
to  himself. 

"  Well,  Philip  1  "  Mrs.  Dennistoun  ventured  to  inquire 
at  last. 

"  The  poor  old  man  was  found  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy — 
let  me  see,"  said  Philip,  looking  at  the  date  — "  last 
Saturday,  and  never  recovered  consciousness,  but  died 
the  next  evening.  Strange  to  say,  the  old  lawyer  and 
confidential  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Balfour,  also  died  sud- 
denly a  few  days  ago — the  only  friend  he  had  in  the 
world,  poor  desolate  old  man.  Here,  you  may  read  the 
letter." 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  11 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  eagerly  grasped  it,  as  Philip  held  it 
to  her,  and  scanned  the  contents  more  quickly  than  her 
son  had  done.  "  What  an  enormous  fortune  has  accumu- 
lated ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Five  hundred  thousand 
pounds  !  It  is  almost  incredible.  And  such  a  fine  place, 
too.  I  have  often  heard  your  father  describe  it.  Really, 
Philip,  it  is  hard  to  believe  you  are  master  of  this.  Who 
is  this  man  who  signs  the  letter  ?  " 

"  A  lawyer,  who  is  to  succeed  Mr.  Balfour  in  the 
business,  I  suppose.  Let  me  look  at  his  name  again. 
'  Forster  Williamson.'  You  see  he  says  at  the  beginning 
that  he  had,  only  a  year  before  Mr.  Balfour's  death,  en- 
tered into  partnership  with  him,  and  had  been  introduced, 
in  his  legal  capacity,  to  the  late  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun." 

"  So  he  does,"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  looking  over  his 
shoulder.  "  Rosie  !  "  as  Rosie's  light  step  was  heard 
coming  up  the  stair. 

"  I  am  come  to  call  you  to  supper.  What  are  you 
doing  here,  Mamma  ?  "  And,  as  Rosie  entered  the  room, 
there  was  seen  behind  her  a  white  form  enveloped  in 
a  cricket  shirt,  tied  round  his  neck  by  the  sleeves,  and 
his  feet  thrust  into  slippers. 

"Hallo!"  he  exclaimed,  "What's  the  row?  Phil 
come  home,  is  it  ?  Well,  old  Phil?  " 

"  There  is  great  news,  Rosie,"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun  ; 
"  isn't  there,  Philip  1 " 

"  Yes,  Jasper,  my  boy,"  said  Philip,  putting  his  arm 
round  the  slight  figure  which  came  up  to  him.  "  It  seems 
I  am  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  and  " 

"  Then  I  am  your  heir,"  said  the  boy,  quickly.  "  How 
awfully  jolly  !  I  say,  old  Phil,  this  is  splendid." 

"  My  heir,"  said  Philip,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his 
voice  ',  "so  that  is  your  first  thought,  is  it  ? " 


12  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  Oh,  Philip !  "  exclaimed  Rosie,  "  I  am  so  glad  for 
you.  You  won't  have  to  poke  about  in  those  dull 
chambers  any  more,  or  go  on  circuit.  We  shall  always 
have  you,  and  we  shall  all  live  together  in  that  grand 
old  place,  Rockdeane.  And  you  will  have  plenty  of 
parties  and  fun,  won't  you,  Philip  ?  " 

Philip  only  said,  "  I  daresay — now  I  want  my  supper ; 
and  Jasper,  my  boy,  I  should  advise  you  to  go  to  bed." 

"  I  am  all  right  now,"  the  boy  said ;  "  I  shall  dress  and 
come  down,  and  drink  your  health." 

But  his  mother  interposed  : — "  No,  my  dear  child, 
decidedly  not,  you  must  go  to  bed ;  as  it  is,  I  expect  you 
will  get  cold." 

"  Get  heat,  you  mean,  mother.  I  have  been  blazing 
like  a  furnace  all  day." 

"  Yes,  and  delicate  boys  like  you  require  great  care," 
were  his  mother's  words  as  she  swept  along,  bearing  the 
unwilling  Jasper  before  her  to  his  room. 

Philip  and  Rosie  went  down  together,  the  girl  cling- 
ing to  his  arm. 

"  The  old  story,  I  suppose  1 "  Philip  said,  looking  back 
on  the  retreating  figure. 

"  Yes,  mother  spoils  him,  and  he  thinks  there  is  no 
one  like  his  worshipful  self.  What  would  he  be  in  your 
place  now  !  Just  imagine  it ! " 

"  I  feel  it  difficult  to  imagine  myself,  Rosie,  so  I  must 
leave  poor  Jasper  alone.  It  is  an  odd  sensation,  this 
embarras  de  richesse." 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  now  appeared,  and  seated  herself  at 
the  table,  where  a  well-appointed  meal  was  spread  for 
the  traveller.  Mrs.  Dennistoun  was  tall  and  slim ;  she 
moved  and  spoke  with  the  air  and  bearing  of  a  gentle- 
woman— a  gentlewoman,  however,  who  was  fully  im- 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  13 

pressed  with  the  sense  of  her  own  merit  and  position,  and 
who  had  just  that  little  touch  about  her  which  must  be 
called  pretentious,  though  the  word  is  one  that  is  neither 
pleasant  to  ear  or  eye.  Mrs.  Dennistoun  felt  the  added 
dignity  of  her  position,  as  she  sat  before  Philip  that  night 
ministering  to  his  wants,  and  enjoying  the  thought  of 
all  the  wide-spread  popularity,  as  his  stepmother,  which  lay 
before  her.  Then  what  advantages  would  now  be  Jasper's 
and  Rosie's.  Jasper,  who  was  a  day  boy  at  the  Ken- 
sington Grammar  School,  would  now  be  sent  to  Eton  or 
Harrow.  Rosie,  whose  debut  had  scarcely  been  made  at 
a  little  private  dance  in  the  neighbourhood  a  few  weeks 
ago,  would  now  be  admired  and  known  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Rockdeane  as  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun's  sister. 

"  I  must  start  early  to-morrow  again,"  Philip  said,  as 
he  followed  his  mother  and  sister  into  the  drawing-room, 
when  he  had  finished  his  supper. 

"  To-morrow  ! "  Rosie  exclaimed. 

"  Of  coui-se,  my  dear,"  her  mother  interposed  :  "  Philip 
must  attend  his  poor  uncle's  funeral ;  your  father  would 
have  done  so." 

"  I  shall  be  just  in  time,"  Philip  said.  "  To-day  is 
Friday,  and  the  funeral  is  to  be  on  Monday,  Mr.  William- 
son says." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  it  was  broken  by  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun. "  What  are  your  plans,  Philip — I  mean  about 
this  house?" 

"  I  have  scarcely  had  time  to  make  any  definite 
plans  yet ;  but  I  shall  give  up  this  house,  of  course,  and 
my  chambers,  and  take  up  my  residence  at  Rockdeane." 

Rosie,  who  was  seated  on  a  stool  at  her  brother's  feet, 
looked  up  into  his  face,  and  said.  "When  are  we  to 
come*" 


14  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"  My  dear  Rosie,  it  may  not  suit  Philip  that  we  should 
live  with  him  any  longer ;  you  forget  that." 

Rosie's  bright  face  clouded ;  but  a  reassuring  pull  of 
one  of  her  fair  curls  satisfied  her.  She  caught  hold  of 
the  hand  which  had  so  transgressed,  and  gave  it  a  little 
pinch.  "  Philip  couldn't  do  without  us,  mother;  you 
forget  that.  But  I  shall  go  to  bed  now,  and  leave  you  to 
talk  it  out ;  for  I  shall  be  up  early  in  the  morning  to  see 
Sir  Philip  has  his  breakfast,  before  he  starts.  What 
time,  Sir  Philip?" 

"  Sharp  at  six,  Lady  Rosalie.  It's  a  pity  you  can't 
have  a  handle  too,  isn't  it  ?  but  it  may  come  all  in  good 
time." 

Rosie  responded,  "  Of  course  it  may  ;"  and,  with  a 
goodnight  kiss,  departed,  her  brother's  eyes  following 
her. 

"  She  looks  well,"  he  said,  when  Mrs.  Dennistoun  and 
he  were  alone. 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  she  is  always  merry  and  bright.  I 
wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  my  poor  Jasper ;  he  is  so 
soon  overdone  and  knocked  up,  and  gets  one  of  those 
dreadful  sick  headaches  constantly." 

Philip  did  not  answer,  and  after  a  pause  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun went  on:  "  He  is  very  different  to  what  you  were  at 
his  age,  Philip ;  when  I  first  knew  you,  you  were  always 
well." 

"  Yes,  I  am  as  tough  as  leather,  and  as  strong  as  a 
horse.  I  think  the  best  prescription  to  attain  that  desir- 
able condition  is  one  given  me  the  other  day  by  old 
Mr.  Norris,  '  Never  to  coddle,  and  never  to  worry.'  As  he 
is  ninety-two,  and  says  he  has  ruled  his  life  thereby,  he 
is  worthy  of  belief." 

Mrs.     Dennistoun     shook     her    head.       "  Constitu- 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  15 

tions  differ  so  widely,"  she  said ;  "  Jasper  has  no 
stamina." 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  was  not  a  foolish  woman,  but  she 
had  her  weak  points  ;  and  the  very  weakest  of  these  was 
her  injudicious  treatment  of  her  boy  Jasper — a  boy 
who  was  ordinary  in  person  and  intellectual  power ;  a 
boy  whose  self-conceit  and  selfishness  were  patent  to  all 
but  to  his  mother ;  and  who,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
wholesome  influence  which  Philip  exercised,  would  have 
been  hopelessly  and  irretrievably  ruined.  As  it  was,  he 
was  as  priggish  and  disagi-eeable  as  a  boy  of  fourteen  can 
contrive  to  be ;  and  was  as  great  a  contrast  to  his  elder 
brother  as  it  was  possible  to  conceive. 

But  even  the  discussion  of  Jasper's  bad  health  could 
not  divert  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  mind  from  the  great  ques- 
tion of  that  evening  :  she  returned  to  it  after  a  pause, 
"  Will  it  really  suit  you,  Philip,  that  I  and  my  children 
should  live  at  Rockdeane  ?  I  have  no  desire  to  press 
myself  unduly  tTpon  yoxi ;  and — " 

Philip  was  standing  now  with  his  back  to  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  looking  down  upon  his  stepmother.  As  she 
spoke,  he  saw  that  her  fingers  were  nervously  playing  with 
the  coloured  wools  in  her  basket,  and  that  she  was  weigh- 
ing the  possibility  of  the  answer  being  given  against  her. 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry,  if  I  thought  that  this 
fortune  of  mine  should  separate  us,"  he  answered  at 
length.  "  If  my  father  had  lived — as  would  to  God  he 
had  ! — you  would  have  been  mistress  of  Rockdeane  ;  and 
it  would  have  been  Rosie  and  Jasper's  natural  home — 
why  should  it  be  different  now  ? " 

"  You  are  always  kind  and  good,  Philip,"  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  replied  ;  while  he  continued — 

"  We    have    been  very   happy    in  this    snug    little 


16  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

house ;  may  we  only  be  half  as  happy  at  Rockdeane ! 
I  could  have  wished  that  my  father  had  come  into 
this  before  me.  He  would  have  made  my  path  easier, 
and  a  name  and  a  position  inherited  from  him  must 
needs  have  been  more  valuable.  His  was  a  grievous  loss 
to  us." 

It  was  so  unusual  for  Philip  to  speak  of  his  father,  and 
Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  been  so  accustomed  to  lament  her 
husband's  death  in  the  very  prime  of  his  manhood — for 
her  own  and  her  children's  sake  more  than  for  Philip's — 
that  she  was  almost  startled  by  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  spoke. 

"  He  left  us  the  best  friend  in  you,  Philip,"  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  He  trusted  in  you 
to  take  care  of  your  brother  and  sister,  and  well  you  have 
fulfilled  his  wishes." 

Then  Philip  was  silent  again ;  at  last  he  said,  "  My 
father  knew  nothing  of  his  uncle,  this  old  Sir  Jasper. 
I  wonder  what  his  history  was  ? " 

"  He  was  a  peculiar,  eccentric  man,"  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
said.  "  Once,  just  before  Jasper's  birth,  I  remember 
your  father  went  to  Rockdeane.  He  was  on  his  way 
from  Scotland.  He  told  me  of  the  visit  and  of  the  old 
house,  which  stands  on  a  rocky  cliff"  two  miles  out  of 
Rodham.  I  recollect  perfectly  his  account  of  the  dreary 
desolation  in  which  the  old  man  lived  in  a  corner  pf  the 
house,  seeing  no  one,  and  separated  almost  entirely  from 
his  fellow- creatures.  Only  the  doctor  and  the  lawyer 
ever  had  any  communication  with  him." 

"  He  was  never  married,  was  he  ?  " 
"  No,  I  think  he  was  a  bachelor  ;  but  your  father  sel- 
dom mentioned  him.     I  really  do  not  think  he  ever  dwelt 
on  the  thought  of  his  succeeding  to  Rockdeane.      He 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  17 

used  sometimes  in  his  last  illness  to  say  that  it  was  a 
comfort  to  him  to  know  you  would  be  able  to  do  all  that 
was  necessary  for  us  some  day.  Once,  I  remember,  he 
added,  'Unless  Sir  Jasper  should  marry,  as  many  old  men 
have  done.'  Your  grandfather,  you  know,  married  when 
very  young,  and  he  was  scarcely  of  age  when  your  father 
was  born." 

"  I  have  heard  that,  and  that  Sir  Jasper  always  cut  him 
for  that  piece  of  indiscretion.  You  must  not  let  your 
Jasper  be  as  indiscreet,  for  fear  I  should  follow  the  old 
man's  example.  Now,  I  think,  with  an  uninteresting 
day's  journey  before  me,  I  had  better  go  to  bed.  Good 
night.  I  will  write  to  you  from  Rockdeane." 

Then  he  was  gone,  and  his  stepmother  was  left  alone. 
She  was  always  on  perfectly  easy  terms  with  Philip,  but 
he  was  seldom  confidential  as  he  had  been  to-night,  and 
he  did  not  often  mention  his  father,  who  had  died  when 
he  was  absent  on  one  of  his  autumn  rambles.  He  had 
travelled  home  in  hot  haste,  but  too  late  to  see  him ;  and 
that  it  had  been  so,  was  one  of  the  saddest  memories  of 
Philip's  life.  In  all  his  dealings  with  Mrs.  Dennistoun, 
Philip  had  always  been,  as  she  said,  kind  and  considerate. 
The  portion  which  he  inherited  from  his  father 
had  been  but  small ;  for,  if  Sir  Jasper  had  been  saving  and 
miserly,  his  brother  had  been  lavish  and  extravagant, 
nor  was  his  son  economical  in  his  expenditure.  He  was 
generous  and  unselfish,  and  at  his  death  there  was  little 
left  but  his  wife's  marriage  settlement,  and  Philip's  small 
fortune  as  his  eldest  son.  He  had  married  twice — the 
first  time  for  love — the  sweet  and  gentle  girl,  who  was 
Philip's  mother ;  the  next  time  for  love  also,  in  which 
some  amount  of  chivalrous  desire  to  protect  the  daughter 
of  an  old  friend,  and  place  her  in  a  position  of  comfort  as 

G 


18  HEIGHTS   A]ST>   VALLEYS. 

his  wife,  certainly  mingled  She  had  repaid  his  care  for 
her  by  affection,  and  their  married  life  had  been  happy. 
Philip  had  just  been  called  to  the  bar  when  his  father 
died,  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  at  his  desire,  left  the  roomy 
country  rectory-house  for  the  pretty  villa  at  Kensington, 
and  there  Philip  lived  when  it  suited  him,  his  means  being 
united  with  his  stepmother's  to  make  it  a  comfortable 
home  for  his  young  brother  and  sister.  At  first  it  had 
been  anything  but  easy  to  maintain  the  position  he  had 
taken  up,  but  latterly  his  briefs  had  been  plentiful,  and 
he  was  known  as  one  of  the  rising  men  on  the  Western 
Circuit  As  Mrs.  Dennistoun  gathered  her  work  to- 
gether, and  placed  books  and  papers,  and  Rosie's  numerous 
belongings,  in  order,  before  leaving  the  drawing-room  for 
the  night,  visions  of  the  future  floated  before  her.  As 
mistress  of  Rockdeane,  how  many  of  her  aspirations  would 
be  fulfilled.  A  position  which  many  would  envy  was 
^ow  hers  ;  the  best  society  of  the  neighbourhood  at  her 
command  for  Rosie,  her  boy  taking  his  place  amongst  the 
sons  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  in  and  near  Rodham.  A 
goodly  staff  of  servants,  carriages,  and  horses;  no  diffi- 
culties as  to  dress,  or  the  appointments  of  the  house  and 
table.  All  these  considerations  were  anything  but  un- 
important to  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  and  had  presented  them- 
selves to  her  mind  in  all  the  most  minute  details  before 
she  lay  down  to  rest  that  night. 

Her  reign  might  not  be  long  at  Rockdeane,  for  Philip 
might  marry,  although,  according  to  all  appearances,  it 
did  not  seem  very  probable.  But,  short  or  long,  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  felt  that  she  was  up  to  the  requirements  of 
her  position,  and  that  Philip  should  never  have  cause  to 
regret  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  his  house. 

"  Bright  days  were  coming  at  last  for  them  all,"  she 


FORTUNE'S  WHEEL.  19 

said  to  herself,  as  she  heard  the  cab-wheels  roll  away 
the  next  morning,  and  Rosie,  as  fresh  as  a  flower  in  tha 
early  light,  came  into  her  room  to  tell  her,  "That 
Philip  was  gone,  and  had  taken  a  great  heap  of  letters 
and  papers  to  get  through  on  his  journey." 


CHAPTER  II. 


OLD  THINGS  AND  NEW. 

"  TAKE  them,  0  Grave,  and  let  them  lie 
Folded  upon  thy  narrow  shelves, 
As  garment  by  the  soul  laid  by 
And  precious  only  to  ourselves. 

"  Take  them,  O  great  Eternity ; 
Our  little  life  is  but  a  gust 
That  bends  the  branches  of  thy  Tree, 
And  hurls  the  branches  in  the  Dust." 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

THE  sun  was  setting  behind  the  dark-browed  mountains 
of  the  Lake  District  when  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  found 
himself  nearing  his  northern  home.  He  had  telegraphed 
to  his  lawyer  that  he  would  be  at  Rodham  by  the  5.10 
train,  and,  punctual  to  its  time,  the  express  was  signalled 
at  the  station,  and  Mr.  Williamson  stood  upon  the  plat- 
form to  receive  the  new  master  of  Rockdeane. 

"  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  I  think,"  Mr.  Williamson 
said,  as  Philip  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  his  small 
portmanteau  in  his  hand,  and  a  satchel  strapped  across 
his  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Williamson,"  Philip  responded,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  you  are  clever  to  make  me  out  so  quickly."  And, 
as  he  spoke,  he  looked  into  the  frank,  honest  face  of  Sir 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  21 

Jasper's  man  of  business  with  pleasure.  And,  indeed, 
Philip  had  to  look  up  at  it,  for  Mr.  Williamson  was  many 
inches  above  him  in  height,  and  was  of  an  entirely 
different  type  to  that  which  is  universally  recognised  as 
the  lawyer.  Philip  had  had  much  experience  of  attorneys 
and  solicitors  in  all  their  shades  of  difference,  and  all 
their  degrees  of  excellence,  but  this  man  was  apparently 
of  another  race. 

"I  have  your  carriage  here,  Sir  Philip,"  he  said. 
"  You  will  not  expect  to  see  a  London  brougham,  or  a 
pair  of  prancing  steeds.  With  some  difficulty  I  have 
beaten  up  a  recruit,  in  the  shape  of  the  old  gardener's 
son,  to  drive  ;  the  coachman  at  Rockdeane  died  some 
months  ago,  and  has  never  been  replaced." 

"  There  was  small  need  for  it ;  as  Sir  Jasper,  I  suppose, 
never  left  the  house,"  was  Philip's  reply.  He  could 
scarcely  resist  a  smile  when  he  followed  Mr.  Williamson 
to  the  antique  chariot,  with  its  high  wheels  and  great 
round  body,  painted  yellow,  with  the  Dennistoun  arms 
emblazoned  on  the  cracked  panel.  On  a  high  box,  from 
which  hung  a  dingy  hammer-cloth,  the  gardener's  son 
was  mounted,  presiding  over  two  very  badly  matched 
horses — it  would  be  a  mockery  to  call  them  a  pair. 
The  only  thing  in  which  they  rivalled  each  other  was  in 
their  plump  condition,  having  eaten  their  heads  off 
in  the  deserted  Rockdeane  stables  for  some  years  past. 

"  The  taller  of  the  two  horses  was  the  only  carriage 
horse  left,"  Mr.  Williamson  observed.  "  The  mare  is  by 
right  the  bailiff's  property,  and  is  more  accustomed  to 
take  him  over  the  estate  than  to  be  harnessed  to* 
carriage ;  but  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Smith  has  made  many 
equestrian  excursions  of  late.  In  fact,  you  will  find 


22  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Rockdeane  very  much  like  the  Palace  of  the  Sleeping 
Beauty  ;  the  whole  place  is  more  than  half  asleep." 

"  Is  that  true  of  Eodham  too  ? "  Sir  Philip  asked,  as 
he  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  streets  through 
which  they  passed. 

"  Well,  no ;  there  is  some  trade  in  Rodham.  It  is 
not  a  rising  place,  but  it  keeps  its  ground,  and  does  not 
decline.  There  is  the  Cathedral  to  your  right,"  he  said, 
"  and  we  passed  the  Deanery  on  our  left  as  we  drove  out 
of  the  station.  There  is  a  large  society,  independently  of 
the  Cathedral  circle,  some  few  pleasant  people,  and  the 
neighbourhood  is  good.  But  I  am  a  new  comer  myself, 
as  I  told  you,  I  succeeded  Mr.  Balfour  after  only  one 
year's  partnership." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  suppose  you  saw  very  little  of  Sir 
Jasper » " 

"I  saw  him  three  times,  that  was  all.  I  fancy  some 
presage  of  his  possible  sudden  end  made  Mr.  Balfour 
urge  the  old  man  to  see  me  ;  but  he  had  not  been  com- 
municative to  me.  Of  course,  since  Sir  Jasper's  death, 
I  have  been  reading  the  legal  documents,  but  they  are  not 
many.  The  will  itself  is  but  a  few  lines ;  just  to  the 
effect  that  the  heir  to  the  baronetcy  was  to  succeed  to  the 
estate  and  moneys,  without  reservation." 

"  Are  there  no  legacies  ?  " 

"  None  of  any  importance  j  a  few  hundred  pounds  to 
his  servants  and  the  Rodham  Hospital,  and  one  of  ten 
thousand  pounds  to  a  person  in  New  Zealand,  to  whom, 
I  see  by  the  books,  remittances  have  been  made  from 
time  to  time." 

As  the  cumbrous  old  chariot  moved  slowly  along, 
drawn  by  the  waddling  steeds,  and  took  the  road  to 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  23 

Rockdeane,  the  twilight  was  deepening.  The  crimson  of 
the  sunset  sky  had  faded,  and  a  light  veil  of  grey 
cloud,  which  had  been  hovering  eastward,  now  spread 
itself  over  the  heavens,  and  came  with  a  chill  damp 
breath  across  the  country.  Nothing  could  be  more 
gloomy  or  depressing  than  the  aspect  of  the  long  beech 
avenue,  as  the  carriage  turned  in  between  two  huge  iron 
gates,  and  rolled  clumsily  along  the  ill-kept  drive.  A 
gradual  ascent  of  three-quarters  of  a  mile  brought  the 
carriage  to  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  ;  and  then,  still 
above  them,  the  old  home  of  the  Denuistouns  came  in 
sight,  with  its  antique  gables  and  mullioned  windows, 
built  of  dark  stone,  which  would  need  a  bright  warm 
sun  to  cheer  into  anything  like  brightness,  and  now,  in 
the  dark  of  the  grey  autumn  evening,  looked  forbidding 
and  gloomy  enough. 

"  The  ground  breaks  off  abruptly  there  on  the  north-west 
side,"  Mr.  Williamson  said,  "  and  dips  down  to  a  stream 
which  is  often  swelled  in  winter,  and  then  deserves  the 
name  of  a  river.  The  precipice  is  covered  with  short 
brushwood  and  dwarf  trees,  and  it  is  here  very  picturesque 
when  seen  from  the  opposite  bank ;  the  old  house,  or 
castle  one  might  call  it,  sitting  like  a  sentinel  on  its  rocky 
height.  The  house  has  been  very  little  changed  in  its 
outward  aspect  since  the  time  of  the  Stuarts ;  and  I 
believe  Dennistouns  have  been  at  Rockdeane  since  the 
days  of  old  border  warfare." 

Philip  had  heard  all  this  before  ;  but  he  was  glad  that 
Mr.  Williamson  should  talk  :  his  voice  was  sonorous  and 
hearty,  and  relieved  the  weird  sense  of  strangeness  and 
isolation  which  crept  over  him. 

"  Here  we  are,"  Mr.  Williamson  said,  as  the  carriage 
pulled  up  with  a  jerk,  and  the  ungainly  coachmaii 
clambered  down  to  rins:  the  bell.  But  his  hand  was 


24  HEIGHTS   AND    VALLEYS. 

scarcely  on  it,  when  the  great  oak  doors  studded  with 
heavy  nails,  over  which  the  eagle  of  the  family  arms 
presided,  opened  in  the  midst,  and  a  grey-haired  butler, 
who,  like  the  horses,  had  evidently  known  how  to  take 
care  of  himself,  bowed  as  he  stood  ready  to  receive  the 
new  master  of  Rockdeane. 

In  the  spacious  hall,  out  of  which  a  wide  oak  staircase 
led  up  into  the  darkness  of  unexplored  regions,  a  flickering 
oil  lamp  showed  the  figiires  of  the  few  servants  who  had 
been  retained  at  Rockdeane.  The  housekeeper  was  a 
rigid  stiff  woman,  who  had  succeeded  her  aunt  in  the 
position  she  held  in  Sir  Jasper's  establishment.  She  headed 
the  group  of  maids,  five  in  number,  and  Philip  bowed 
in  answer  to  their  curtseys,  and  hoped  they  were  all 
well. 

"  Mr.  Smith  is  laid  up  with  gout,  or  he  would  have 
been  here,  he  begged  me  to  mention,  Sir,"  the  butler  said, 
as  he  preceded  Sir  Philip  to  the  room  where  dinner  was 
prepared.  The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Mason,  followed,  and 
wished  to  know  if  Sir  Philip  would  dine  now,  or  see 
his  own  room  first. 

"  I  have  prepared  the  great  west  room  for  your 
reception,  Sir  Philip,  it  is  in  the  opposite  wing  to — to — 
Sir  Jasper's." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sir  Philip,  "  it  will  do  very  well. 
You  will  stay  and  dine  with  me,  Mr.  Williamson,"  he 
added  eagerly,  for  the  hushed  voices  and  stealthy  tread  of 
every  one  about  him,  and  the  stillness  of  the  house  of 
death,  oppressed  him. 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  stay,"  Mr.  Williamson  replied  ; 
"  but  you  must  allow  me  to  leave  you  early  in  the  evening, 
as  I  have  an  appointment  in  Rodham." 

"And  while  the  dinner  is  served,"  said  Sir  Philip, 
«'  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Mason  to  show  me  my  room." 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  25 

Mrs.  Mason  made  a  stiff  curtsey,  and  led  the  way  back 
through  the  passage  to  the  great  hall  once  more,  where 
one  of  the  maids  was  waiting  with  a  candle,  and  preceded 
her  new  master  up  the  wide  staircase,  never  changing  her 
slow  deliberate  manner,  and  pausing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  to  say,  in  a  low  suppressed  voice,  "  Sir  Jasper's 
room  is  there,  Sir  Philip,  would  you  wish  to  see  him  1 
The  coffin  is  not  closed,  by  Mr.  "Williamson's  order,  till 
your  arrival." 

"  Not  to  night,  thank  you,"  and  Philip  turned  quickly 
away  from  the  corridor  towards  which  Mrs.  Mason 
pointed,  while  the  housekeeper  went  down  one  in  the 
opposite  direction,  where  Sir  Philip  at  last  found  his  room. 
It  was  like  every  part  of  the  house,  hung  with  pictures. 
A  large  old-fashioned  bed,  with  heavy  dusky  curtains, 
stood  at  one  end  of  it ;  the  rest  was  dreary  desolation,  and 
a  window,  very  much  too  small  for  the  size  of  the  room, 
looked  down  upon  the  wooded  and  precipitous  cliff  of 
which  Mr.  Williamson  had  spoken.  Philip  walked  to  the 
window,  and  tried  to  make  out  the  features  of  the  land- 
scape ;  but  the  gathering  night  and  the  grey-clouded  sky 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  do  more  than  trace  the 
outline  of  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream,  which  was 
heard  gurgling  and  rushing  over  its  rocky  bed.  When 
Mrs.  Mason  was  gone,  Sir  Philip  made  a  hasty  toilette, 
and  was  leaving  the  room  when  a  portrait  over  the  wide 
old  chimneypiece  arrested  his  attention.  The  eyes  looked 
down  on  him  with  a  curious  grave  wonder  from  beneath 
a  brow  half  hidden  by  a  Spanish  hat  and  feather,  and 
from  under  which  abundant  hair  rolled  in  heavy  locks 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  cavalier  of  Charles's  time. 
Sir  Philip  held  the  candle  to  the  picture,  and  as  the 
flame  flickered  and  danced  upon  the  features,  it  was  easy 
to  believe  that  the  man  was  breathing  the  breath  of  life. 


26  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

Some  lettering  in  one  corner,  evidently  of  more  recent 
date  than  the  picture  itself,  attracted  Sir  Philip,  and  he 
deciphered  these  words : — "  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun, 
Knight.  He  ended  a  noble  life  by  a  glorious  death  while 
fighting  for  his  king  and  his  country,  on  the  field  of 
Edgehill,  A.D.  1642.— Gloria  tibi  Domine."  "That  is  a 
grand  character  to  leave  behind  you,  Sir  Philip,"  he  said, 
half  aloud  and  half  to  himself.  "  What  more  could  those 
who  loved  you  best  desire  ?  I  bear  your  name,  let  me 
bear  it  well"  And  even  as  he  spoke,  the  grave  earnest 
eyes  seemed  to  meet  his,  and  to  answer  his  look  of 
admiration  with  one  of  encouragement  and  kindli- 
ness. 

Then  Sir  Philip  made  his  way  along  the  dark 
corridor  down  the  wide  staircase,  at  the  foot  of  which 
stood  old  Forrest,  the  butler,  waiting  to  usher  him  in  to 
dinner.  Mr.  Williamson's  bright  honest  face  at  the  table 
was  really  very  welcome,  and  the  dinner  was  eaten  with 
the  sauce  of  much  pleasant  conversation. 

Old  Forrest  produced  excellent  wine,  and  when  he 
removed  the  cloth  and  left  the  shining  black  mahogany 
table  uncovered,  he  put  down  by  Sir  Philip  a  bottle  of 
port,  saying  in  his  small  squeaking  voice,  "This  has  been 
forty  years  in  the  cellar,  Sir  Philip." 

"  Sir  Jasper  cared  for  the  good  things  of  life  then  it 
seems,"  Philip  said,  when  he  and  Mr.  Williamson  were 
left  alone. 

"  Yes,  all  the  wine  I  hear  is  of  the  class  of  this  port ; 
but  no  one  ever  tasted  it  by  invitation,  except  the  Doctor 
and  Mr.  Balfour.  I  would  not  undertake  to  say  that 
our  friend,  who  has  just  left  the  room,  has  not  tested  its 
excellence,  though  perhaps  uninvited." 

Philip  smiled  ;  "  Neither  should  I.  Mr.  Forrest  looks 
as  if  he  had  had  an  easy  time  of  it  here." 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  27 

"  Yes,  the  servants  can  have  had  little  to  do.  I  believe 
Sir  Jasper  lived  altogether  in  this  room ;  all  the  things 
are  lying  about  as  he  left  them  not  a  week  ago.  They 
found  him  here  insensible,  carried  him  to  his  room  above, 
and  there  he  died,  as  you  know,  a  few  hours  afterwards. 
There  is  something  very  pathetic  in  living  and  dying 
alone,  it  would  seem  unmourned  and  unloved.  But 
I  must  say  good  night,  now  ;  I  must  be  in 
Rodham  by  nine  o'clock.  I  will  be  here  early  on  Mon- 
day morning,  and  the  funeral  must  start  about  eleven. 
You  know  the  Dennistouns  have  a  mortuary  chapel 
connected  with  an  almshouse  in  Rodham — generations 
of  them  lie  there.  But  it  is  a  long  walk  into  the  city, 
and  I  must  really  be  off." 

Philip  accompanied  his  guest  to  the  hall  door,  and  saw 
him  walk  quickly  away,  and  then  he  turned  back  again 
to  the  quiet  and  silent  house,  and  took  his  seat  before  the 
fire,  which  was  blazing  in  the  old-fashioned  grate  of  the 
Library. 

It  was,  as  Mr.  Williamson  said,  pathetic  to  live  and 
die  alone,  apparently  unloved  and  unlamented,  as  Sir 
Jasper  had  done.  It  is  difficult  when  the  aged  die,  to 
realize  that  the  days  of  youth  and  strength  were  once 
theirs,  and  that  the  life  now  closed  once  lay  before  them 
in  all  the  bright  radiance  of  early  morning.  Difficult  to 
identify  the  desolate  old  man,  who  dies  as  Sir  Jasper  had 
done,  with  no  tender  hand  to  close  his  eyes,  and  gather 
up  every  relic  of  him  as  precious,  with  the  child  who  was 
the  treasure  of  a  fond  mother,  or  the  pride  of  a  happy 
father ;  with  the  boy  full  of  tricks,  and  fun,  and  merri- 
ment ;  with  the  youth  setting  forth  on  the  journey  of 
life,  with  resolute  and  impetuous  step.  And  yet  the  old 
man,  sleeping  his  last  long  sleep  in  the  room  above  that 


28  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

where  Philip  sat  alone  that  evening,  had  passed  through 
all  these  stages,  and  had  gone  down  to  the  grave  full  of 
years.  There  was  his  empty  chair  by  the  fire,  the  small 
writing-table  drawn  beside  it,  the  old-fashioned  candle- 
lamp,  with  its  green  perforated  shade  upon  it.  Philip 
turned  over  the  books  which  lay  there,  and  was  surprised  to 
see  that  they  indicated  taste  and  cultivation — old  standard 
books,  which  are  dying  out  of  the  remembrance  of  the 
great  reading  public  of  these  days,  when  magazines  glut 
the  world  with  periodical  and  spasmodic  bursts  of  prose, 
poetry,  and  science.  There  was  a  well-worn  and  very  old 
copy  of  Wordsworth.  On  the  yellow  fly-leaf  was  written, 
"  Jasper  Dennistoun — his  mother's  gift."  There  was  an 
ancient  prayer-book,  too,  on  the  table ;  it  lay  uppermost, 
and  a  mark  was  in  it.  Philip  opened  it,  and  his  eye  fell 
on  the  51st  Psalm.  One  of  the  verses  was  marked  with 
trembling  irregular  strokes — "  Against  Thee,  Thee  only, 
have  I  sinned,  and  done  this  evil  in  Thy  sight." 

"  Poor  old  man,"  Philip  sighed  ;  "  perhaps  he  was 
reading  that  when  he  sat  here  for  the  last  time  before 
he  was  struck  down.  All  his  secrets  and  all  his  sins,  all 
his  hopes  and  fears,  are  buried  with  him,  as  they  say 
no  one  knew  him,  and  no  one  loved  him." 

Forrest  coming  into  the  room  with  some  good  coffee 
disturbed  his  reverie,  and  then,  after  answering  some  of 
the  letters  which  he  had  bi'ought  in  his  satchel,  and  which 
Rosie  had  seen  him  hastily  gather  from  his  study  table 
in  the  morning,  Philip  found  his  way  through  the  dim 
corridors  once  more,  and  was  soon  sleeping  the  sound 
unbroken  sleep  of  early  manhood  ;  while  the  noisy  stream 
murmured  beneath,  as  it  rushed  onwards  to  meet  the 
river  below  Rodham,  and  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  Knight 
seemed  to  look  calmly  do\\m  upon  the  sleeper,  with  his 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  29 

grave,  serious  eyes,  as  one  whose  warfare  was  accom- 
plished, and  whose  victory  was  won. 

The  Doctor  arrived  early  on  the  quiet  Sunday  morning, 
which  dawned  fair  and  bright  over  the  woods  of  Rock- 
deane,  to  pay  his  respects  to  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun. 
Every  day  for  many  years  had  Dr.  Simpson  found  his 
way  up  that  long,  irregular  drive.  Every  day  for  many 
and  many  a  year  had  he  been,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Balfour,  the  only  visitor  at  Rockdeane,  and  he  now 
entered  the  house  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  perfectly 
at  home  there.  Dr.  Simpson  was  a  small,  spare  man, 
with  a  sharp,  pointed  nose,  hungry,  eager  eyes,  and  thin 
lips.  He  was  scarcely  the  leading  doctor  in  Rodham. 
There  were  younger  men,  of  a  more  modern  school, 
who  were  gradually  supplanting  him.  Nevertheless,  Dr. 
Simpson  had  a  well-established  practice,  and  one  such 
patient  as  the  late  Sir  Jasper  had  been,  secured  him  a 
competence.  For,  if  the  old  man  had  grudged  expense  in 
keeping  up  any  appearance  suited  to  his  rank  at  Rock- 
deane,  he  had  been  lavish  in  his  fees  to  his  doctor,  often 
thrusting  a  cheque  into  his  hand,  which  made  it  well 
worth  the  little  man's  while  to  perform  that  daily  journey 
of  his  along  the  beech  avenue. 

Dr.  Simpson  was  quite  in  earnest  when  he  descanted 
on  his  sorrow  for  the  loss  which  he  had  sustained  ;  he 
knew  very  well  it  was  a  loss  which  he  should  never 
replace.  But  he  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  Philip's 
society  before  he  discerned  that  it  would  serve  no  purpose 
to  make  any  pretension  to  him.  His  short,  concise 
answers,  and  his  straight,  keen  glance,  made  the  little 
doctor  shrink  into  rather  smaller  proportions  than  usual. 

He  magnified  his  attentions  to  Sir  Jasper  to  the 
utmost,  and,  with  many  high-sounding  medical  expre,*- 


30  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

sions  and  phrases  which  smacked  of  Latin,  Dr.  Simpson 
described  the  condition  in  which  he  found  poor  old  Sir 
Jasper  when  summoned  to  his  assistance. 

"  I  think  it  right,  Sir  Philip,  to  enter  into  these  details 
to  you,  as  the  representative  of  my  late  patient,  and,  I 
may  say,  very  dear  friend ;  you  will  excuse  my  doing  so,  I 
am  sure.  It  is  also  my  duty  to  ask  you  to  visit  the  body 
with  me,  unless  it  is  too  much  for  your  overtaxed  feelings, 
Sir  Philip." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Philip,  "  I  will  do  so,  if  you  desire  ; " 
and  he  moved  at  once  to  leave  the  room. 

"  I  can  but  deplore,"  said  Dr.  Simpson,  with  his  hand 
on  the  door,  "  that  death  has  snatched  away  one  who  could 
have  given  you  so  many  more  details  of  the  departed 
than  I  can — legal  details,  I  mean.  Mr.  Balfour  was  in 
his  confidence,  and  every  little  circumstance  of  his  life 
was  known  to  him  as  his  legal  adviser ;  whereas,  I 
greatly  fear,  the  young  man  who  stands  in  Mr.  Balfour's 
place  is  veiy  incompetent,  from  youth  and  inexperience, 
to  conduct  the  affairs  of  such  a  vast  inheritance." 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Williamson," 
said  Philip  shortly,  "  and  I  like  him  very  much ;  he  seems 
a  good  honest  fellow,  and  has  a  clear  head  for  business  I 
should  think  ;  now,  Dr.  Simpson." 

And  then  the  two  went  together  to  look  upon  the 
dead.  Apart  from  all  personal  feeling,  there  is  ever 
something  of  awe  and  undefined  sadness  which  cornea 
over  us  in  the  presence  of  death.  The  Great  Here- 
after seems  then  to  be  everything,  the  present  nothing. 
A  nd  in  this  chamber,  where  the  dead  man  lay,  the  stillness 
was  unbroken  and  complete.  Here  was  no  murmur  of 
tender  words  from  breaking  hearts ;  no  tears  and  bursting 
sobs  to  disturb  it ;  here  were  no  signs  of  tender  care ;  no 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  31 

flowers  to  brighten  the  gloom,  with  which  living  hands 
are  wont  to  shadow  forth  the  hope  of  life  and 
youth  beyond  the  grave — the  hope  of  a  resurrection,  and  a 
glorious  immortality.  It  was  so  easy  to  see  that  even 
the  servants  in  that  house  did  not  cling  to  their 
master  with  any  affection.  On  the  chimney  piece  was 
the  medicine-bottle,  with  his  name  on  the  label,  which 
he  had  last  used;  his  great  gold  watch  hanging  to  a 
hook  on  a  black  stand,  the  hands  still.  Evidently  there 
was  no  one  who  cared  to  gather  up  every  relic  as  precious 
— nay,  even  to  put  out  of  sight  the  little  things  which 
spoke  so  forcibly  of  the  suddenness  with  which  the  silver 
cord  was  loosed.  Philip  looked  upon  the  still  face  before 
him,  with  kindly  feelings  of  compassion,  that  none  nearer 
than  himself  by  the  ties  of  kindred  or  love  should  stand 
there,  and  be  summoned  to  see  all  that  was  mortal  of  Sir 
Jasper  laid  in  his  last  resling-place.  He  turned  away 
froDi  the  room  subdued  and  thoughtful,  and  was  relieved, 
when  the  garrulous  doctor  pleaded  the  pressure  of  pro- 
fessional engagements,  and  departed,  with  many  obsequious 
protestations  of  respect  and  affection  for  the  successor  of 
his  late  most  dear  friend.  As  Sir  Philip  saw  him  step 
into  his  carriage,  and  roll  away,  he  looked  round  the 
wide  hall,  and  in  a  recess  by  one  window  his  eye  caught 
the  ancient  oak  stand  for  hats  and  umbrellas,  which  was 
surmounted  by  a  carved  eagle,  with  its  claw  upon  a 
coronet,  which  was  the  family  crest. 

"  Mrs.  Mason,"  he  said  hastily  to  the  housekeeper, 
who  approached  him  with  her  usual  cat-like  tread,  "  I 
think  those  things  should  be  removed.  I  do  not  like  to 
see  them  there  now." 

"  Oh,  you  mean,  Sir,  the  late  Sir  Jasper's  hats  and 
gloves ;  to  be  sure,  I  will  put  them  away.  Sir  Jasper 


82  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

had  not  been  into  Rodham  for  years,  but  he  sometimes 
took  an  airing  on  the  Cliff-terrace,  when  the  day  was 
sunny."  And  Mrs.  Mason  snatched  from  the  pegs 
the  poor  battered  old  hats,  of  a  shape  which  betrayed 
their  age ;  and  as  she  did  so,  a  pair  of  doeskin 
gloves  fell  from  the  crown  of  one  of  them.  She  stooped 
to  pick  them  up,  saying — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,  I  am  sure  ;  it  did  not  strike 
me  that  these  little  matters  would  be,  of  course,  unplea- 
sant to  you  to  see.  They  are  very  old  and  shabby,  I  know," 
she  went  on  in  a  half  apologetic  tone,  "  but  as  I  said 
before,  Sir  Jasper  never  went  beyond  the  grounds,  and 
was  not  at  all  particular  about  his  clothes,  either  hats  or 
coats." 

Philip  turned  away  impatiently.  "  It  was  nothing  of 
that  kind  I  meant,"  he  began ;  and  then,  finding  all  ex- 
planation would  be  lost  upon  Mrs.  Mason,  he  took  his  hat 
from  under  the  wide-spread  wings  of  the  dusty  old  eagle, 
and  went  out  into  the  quiet  still  air.  It  was  one  of  those 
autumn  days  when  a  mysterious  hush  seems  to  have  come 
down  upon  the  earth.  As  Philip  stood  upon  the  Cliff- 
terrace,  there  was  not  a  sound  to  break  the  quiet,  except 
the  voice  of  the  stream,  as  it  hurried  on  its  course  ;  and 
even  that  was  as  a  lullaby,  and  was  subdued  and  gentle. 
The  terrace  was  nine  feet  in  width,  and  the  old  grey  walls 
of  the  house  overshadowed  it.  Beyond  were  wood  and 
moor,  and  wide  expanse  stretching  away  towards  the 
mountains  in  one  direction,  and  in  another,  ending  in 
one  of  those  scars  or  precipitous  ridges,  which  break  up 
the  wolds  of  Yorkshire  and  Cumberland  in  so  many 
places.  The  cliff  on  which  Rockdeane  was  built  was  of 
the  same  type  of  rocky  eminence,  and  with  the  stream 
below,  and  the  side  of  the  scar  so  steep,  Rockdeane  must 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  33 

have  been  found  a  safe  refuge  in  olden  times.  The  south 
side  of  the  house  was  more  modern,  and  was  built  in 
faqades  of  various  styles  of  architecture,  in  irregular  but 
picturesque  fashion,  according  to  the  taste  and  date  of 
different  owners  of  Rockdeane.  The  front  of  the  house 
formed  a  straight  and  unbroken  line,  and  the  windows 
looked  on  a  sweep  of  sloping  grass  to  the  turn  of  the 
avenue,  and  above  the  top  of  the  elm-trees.  The 
Cathedral  could  be  seen  with  the  roofs  of  Rodham 
clustering  round  it,  and  far  away,  in  clear  weather,  a  blue 
line  of  light  showed  where  St.  George's  Channel  washed 
the  coast,  and  separated  Cumberland  from  Ireland. 

The  streets  of  Rodham  were  quiet  and  deserted  when 
Sir  Philip  walked  through  them  that  morning.  The 
chimes  for  service  had  ceased  before  he  had  left  the 
avenue,  and  the  service  was  more  than  half  over  when 
he  entered  the  nave  of  the  Cathedral.  The  west  front  of 
Rodham  is  low,  and  not  remarkable  for  beauty  ;  but  the 
great  pillars  which  support  a  lofty  roof  give  the  idea  of 
strength  and  endurance  as  the  nave  is  entered.  Services 
are  held  in  the  nave  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  rows  of 
chairs  fill  it,  which  is  a  great  loss  to  the  eye  which 
loves  to  see  the  violet  shadows  come  and  go  through 
the  coloured  windows  upon  the  stone  pavement.  But 
glorious  combinations  of  tenderest  pink  and  radiant  yel- 
low and  purple  still  creep  over  the  wreathed  capitals,  and 
light  up  with  living  beauty  some  carved  face  looking 
eastward  for  the  dawn.  The  choir  was  singing  as 
Sir  Philip  sat  near  the  closed  door  which  separated  the 
nave  from  the  inner  court  of  the  temple.  A  verger, 
who  was  slowly  pacing  up  and  down  from  transept  to 
transept,  approached  Philip,  and  told  him  he  could  enter 
the  choir  by  going  round  by  the  south  transept.  Half 

D 


34  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

mechanically,  Philip  turned  to  follow  the  man,  and  soon 
found  himself  in  the  chancel,  where  the  Dean  had  just 
begun  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  from  the  communion-table. 
Philip  knelt  with  the  rest ;  and,  when  the  service  was 
concluded,  settled  himself  for  meditation  while  the  ser- 
mon  was  preached    by  the   Canon   in   residence,  who 
ascended  the  pulpit  under  the  fostering  protection  of  the 
same  verger  who  had  shown  Sir  Philip  his  seat.     Philip 
made  no  effort  to  listen  to  the  sermon  ;  it  was  delivered 
in  a  low,   monotonous  tone,  which  failed  to  arrest  his 
attention.     He  looked  about,  first  at  the  graceful  pillars 
and  airy  and  pointed  arches  of  the  Lady-chapel,    seen 
through  the  open  reredos,  then  at  the  beautiful  east  win- 
dow, intensely  bright  in  colours,  as  the  clear  blue  of  the 
early  autumn  sky  shone  through  its  many- coloured  pic- 
tures of  saints  and  martyrs.     Then  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
reclining  figures  of  kuights  and  bishops,  on  the  time-worn 
monuments  which  lay  gazing  upward  with  their  chiselled 
faces,  with  hands  meekly  folded  on  their  breasts,  as  they 
had  lain  for  centuries.     From  things  inanimate  Philip 
turned  to  things  animate ;  he  was  in  a  crowd,  unknown. 
Every  countenance  was  strange  to  him ;  and  yet  very 
soon — as  by  a  magic  touch — all  these  faces  would  become 
familiar  as  the  faces  of  people  among  whom  his  life  was 
to  be  spent.     He  was  unnoticed  in  the  congregation  ; 
those  who  sat  in  the  stalls,  those  who  thronged  the  benches, 
and  those  who  were  tightly  hemmed  into  pews,  which 
were  like  pens  for  sheep,  and  closed  with  doors,  and  in 
some  instances  locked  doors,  did  not  single  him  out  for 
an  especial  observance.     Bishop,  dean,  canons,  chanceMor, 
all  their  families  of  wives  and  daughters,   would  have 
looked  curiously  on  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  of  Rockdeane, 
had  they  known  he  was  present ;  but  they  did  not  know 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  35 

it,  and  so  he  passed  out  in  the  throng  unnoticed,  as  the 
sermon  over,  and  the  benediction  given,  the  congregation 
dispersed  in  the  nave. 

He  was  sauntering  across  the  Cathedral-green  again, 
undecided  which  turn  to  take,  when  a  cheerful  voice 
pronounced  his  name  : — 

"  Sir  Philip,  will  you  come  home  with  me  to  luncheon," 
said  Mr.  Williamson ;  "  or  rather  to  our  children's  dinner. 
We  all  dine  early  together  on  Sunday." 

"  Thanks  ;  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  accept  your  invita- 
tion," said  Philip,  cordially.  "I  believe  I  had  some 
vague  idea  of  calling  at  your  house,  and  was  ruminating 
over  your  address  when  you  spoke  to  me." 

"  Ecclestone-square  is  where  I  live,  my  office  is  in 
Broadgate.  Have  you  been  to  service  at  the  Cathedral  ] 
I  did  not  see  you." 

"  I  was  in  a  seat  in  the  chancel,"  Philip  said  ;  "  I 
arrived  late,  and  did  not  get  into  Rodham  till  nearly 
twelve." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Williamson,  "  My  wife  and  my 
sister-in-law  are  staying  for  the  Holy  Communion,  so  I 
have  time  to  turn  through  the  Close  with  you.  It  is  not 
a  very  grand  Cathedral  externally,  but  the  longer  you 
know  it  the  more  it  grows  upon  you ;  the  tracery  of  the 
windows  is  so  remarkably  fine,  and  there  are  many  other 
beauties  which  escape  the  eye  on  first  acquaintance.  The 
palace  is  not  in  Rodham,  but  two  or  three  miles  east  of 
the  town,  in  the  opposite  direction  to  Rockdeane." 

Thus  pointing  out  several  buildings  and  churches  as 
they  went  along,  Mr,  Williamson  turned  at  last  into 
a  square  of  private  houses  with  gardens  in  front,  and, 
taking  a  latch-key  from  his  pocket,  said,  "  Here  we  are. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  there  was  a  rush  of 
D  2 


36  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

small  feet  upon  the  staircase,  and  a  child  of  six  years  old 
took  a  flying  leap  into  her  father's  arms. 

"  Papa,  Randal  has  been  so  horrid  ! "  Then,  catching 
sight  of  a  stranger,  the  little  lady  buried  her  face  on  her 
father's  shoulder,  and  stopped  suddenly. 

"Hush,  Hilda!  What  will  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun 
think  of  such  a  wild  elf?  What  have  been  Randal's  sins 
this  morning  ?  " 

"Nothing,  papa,"  shouted  a  voice  from  the  flight 
above.  "  I  only  tell  her  she  is  a  silly,  stupid  thing  to  be 
afraid  of  auntie,  and  she  is  ;  she  knows  that. 

"  Auntie  said  we  were  not  to  play  railways  on  Sundays 
with  the  chairs,  and  I  will  mind  what  auntie  said." 

"  Come,  come,  Hilda,  let  me  show  Sir  Philip  the  way 
to  the  drawing-room,"  Mr.  Williamson  said,  putting 
down  the  little  girl,  and  saying  to  Philip,  "  You  see  what 
a  man  with  children  has  to  put  up  with,  especially  when 
they  have  colds,  and  are  kept  at  home  on  Sundays." 

Sir  Philip  smiled,  and  inwardly  congratulated  himself 
that  he  had  no  such  taxes  upon  his  forbearance. 

"  I  have  a  young  brother  of  thirteen,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  the  age  of  that  boy,  I  imagine,"  pointing  to  the 
offending  Randal,  who  now  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
and,  pulling  Hilda's  golden  locks,  unabashed  by  the 
presence  of  the  stranger,  said,  "  I  am  not  quite  ten,  and 
she  is  six." 

"  Not  ten  !  "  exclaimed  Philip  ;  "  Jasper  must  be 
more  of  a  dwarf  than  I  thought  him.  When  he  comes 
to  Rockdeane,  you  must  come  and  make  friends  with 
him." 

"  Rockdeane.  Oh  !  I  have  often  been  nutting  in  the 
copses  there.  That  will  be  jolly." 

"  Here  is  my  eldest  child,"  said  Mr.  Williamson,  as 


OLD   THINGS  AND   NEW.  37 

Sir  Philip  followed  his  host  into  the  drawing-room ; 
and,  going  up  to  a  sofa,  the  fether  said,  in  a  very  different 
voice  to  that  in  which  he  had  spoken  to  his  other  children, 
"  Cuthbert,  my  boy,  this  is  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun." 

A  pair  of  dark  earnest  eyes  were  raised  to  Sir  Philip's 
face,  and  a  little  voice,  with  the  pathetic  ring  in  it  which 
is  only  heard  when  the  speaker  suffers,  and  has  suffered 
from  infancy,  said,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  nod,  "I 
know,  father.  Aunt  Irene  said  he  was  come."  And 
then  Cuthbert  held  out  a  small,  thin  hand  to  Philip, 
saying,  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

Philip  looked  down  upon  the  child,  as  he  lay  upon 
his  small  invalid  couch,  and  thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
face  which  interested  him  more.  He  was  always  kind  to 
children  when  they  came  in  his  way,  which  was  not  often ; 
but  he  never  thought  much  about  them,  except  that  they 
were  small  and  weak,  and  therefore  must  claim  from  him 
protection  if  needed,  and  chivalrous  consideration  always. 

"  And  who  is  Aunt  Irene  ?  "  he  asked,  as  Cuthbert's 
earnest  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  him ;  "  who  is  Aunt 
Irene,  and  what  does  she  know  about  me  1 " 

"  Not  much,"  was  the  answer ;  "  only  father  told  us 
all,  Sir  Philip  was  coming  to  Rockdeane ;  and  we  wondered, 
mother  and  I,  what  you  were  like  ;  and  Aunt  Irene  met 
you  yesterday  in  the  carriage  with  papa ;  and  she 
said" 

"Hush,  hush,  Cuthbert,"  said  his  father.  And  then 
he  turned  to  Philip,  and  added,  "  You  must  pardon  this 
little  man's  freedom ;  he  does  not  know  what  shyness 
means ;  and  perhaps  we  encourage  him  to  talk  too  much. 
As  he  is  always  lying  there,  we  amuse  him  in  every 
possible  way." 

A  faint  colour  came  into  Cuthbert's  pale  face  as  he 


38  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

caught  what  his  father  was  saying,  and  his  eyes  were 
directed  anxiously  to  the  door. 

"  Ah  !  here  are  my  wife  and  sister,"  said  Mr.  William- 
son. "  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  Mary." 

Mrs.  Williamson  advanced  to  shake  hands  warmly  with 
her  guest. 

"I  don't  like  her  so  well  as  her  husband,"  was  Sir 
Philip's  first  thought ;  and  the  second,  "  How  like  the 
lame  child  is  to  the  sister." 

"  Irene,  I  must  introduce  you  to  Sir  Philip,"  Mr. 
Williamson  continued.  "  He  is  come  to  join  us  at 
dinner,  Mary,  you  have  kept  us  waiting  some  time." 

"I  am  really  very  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Williamson,  a 
pretty,  fair  woman,  who  was  dressed  fashionably,  and 
had  a  touch  of  empressement  in  her  manner,  to  Sir  Philip, 
which  had  caused  the  comparison  between  her  and  her 
nusband  to  be  unfavourable  to  her.  "  Really,  Forster,  if 
you  had  told  iue  Sir  Philip  would  take  luncheon  with  us 
to-day  I  should  not  have  stayed  to  the  full  service  at  the 
Cathedral.  You  must  forgive  me,  Sir  Philip  ;  I  had  no 
idea  we  were  likely  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
here." 

All  this  time  Irene — who  was  kneeling  by  Cuthbert's 
little  sofa,  the  child  talking  to  her  eagerly  in  a  low  voice 
— had  not  spoken ;  but  when  Mrs.  Williamson  had  said 
she  should  not  have  stayed  to  the  service  at  church  if  she 
had  known  who  their  guest  would  be,  she  had  looked  at 
her  sister  with  an  expression  \\  hich  could  not  be  mistaken 
— it  was  one  of  grave  rebuka 

"  Come,  Irene,"  Mrs.  Williamson  said,  in  a  tone  which 
implied  that  she  had  understood  the  glance;  "do  not 
waste  any  more  time,  but  come  at  once."  And  she 
rustled  out  of  the  room,  half  closing  the  door,  on 


OLD   THINGS   AND   NEW.  39 

the  other  side  of  which  was  presently  heard  a  scarcely 
repressed  tumult. 

"  I  will.  What  a  shame ! "  and  then  whispered 
maternal  entreaties  and  commands.  It  ended  in  Hilda 
rushing  in,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  father. 

"  Papa,  mayn't  I  come  down  to  Sunday  dinner  ? 
Mamma  says  I  mustn't,  because  he  is  here." 

Irene,  who  had  very  little  change  to  make  in  her  dress, 
and  had  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  drew  the  child  away  from 
her  father,  and  said,  "  Hush,  Hilda  !  You  must  do 
what  mamma  tells  you." 

"  Let  me  plead  for  her,"  said  Philip,  thinking  that  the 
voice  was  the  sweetest  and  most  musical  he  had  ever 
heard.  "  Let  me  plead,  I  should  be  sorry  indeed  to  be 
the  cause  of  Hilda's  banishment.  Shall  we  go  down 
stairs,  Hilda,  and  ask  your  mother  to  let  us  eat  our 
Sunday  dinner  together." 

"  May  I,  Auntie  ?  "  the  child  asked,  looking  wistfully 
at  Irene.  But,  without  waiting  for  the  answer,  Sir 
Philip  raised  little  Hilda  in  his  arms ;  and,  discovering  by 
a  smile  on  her  father's  face  that  he  was  by  no  means 
unwilling  that  his  little  girl  should  be  gratified,  he 
entered  the  dining-room  with  Hilda's  face  buried  on  his 
shoulder,  and  her  golden  hair  falling  over  it  like  a 
shower. 

"  Hilda  !  "  was  her  mother's  greeting,  "  I  am  shocked. 
Irene,  how  could  you  allow  it  1  Now,  Sir  Philip,  will 
you  sit  next  me  1  "  And  Mrs.  Williamson  surveyed  the 
table,  to  which  she  had  given  several  finishing  touches, 
with  some  anxiety,  but  more  satisfaction. 

Hilda  was  deposited  in  her  high  chair,  and  Irene  sat 
between  her  and  Randal.  Philip  kept  up  a  pleasant 
conversation  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williamson,  in  which  ha 


40  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

wished  Irene  would  join,  but  she  devoted  herself 
apparently  to  the  two  children,  and  did  not  speak. 

Before  dinner  was  really  over,  Miss  Clifford  looked  at 
her  sister,  and  quietly  left  the  room. 

"  May  I  go  with  auntie  to  Hildyard's  Almshouse  to-day, 
mamma  ? " 

"No,  Randal,  certainly  not,  you  know  you  have  a 
cold,"  said  his  mother.  Then  she  continued,  to  Sir  Philip, 
"  My  sister  is  a  great  friend  of  the  old  warden  of  Hild- 
yard's Almshouses,  and  she  looks  after  the  poor  old  people, 
reads  to  them  when  they  are  ill,  and  all  that." 

"  Yes,  Irene  is  a  curate  to  half  the  clergymen  in 
Rodham,"  said  Mr.  Williamson ;  "  she  is  here,  there,  and 
everywhere  amongst  the  poor.  By-the-bye,  Sir  Philip, 
Hildyard's  Chapel  belongs  to  the  Dennistouns — it  is 
there  that  Sir  Jasper  is  to  be  buried  to-morrow.  Some 
of  the  Dennistouns  married  into  the  Hildyard  family 
two  or  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  it  fell  into  their 
hands,  with  the  charity  which  provides  thirty-five  old 
people  with  house  and  home  under  the  will  of  a  Dame 
Janet  Hildyard,  who  died  in  1537.  There  is  a  chapel, 
a  warden,  and  a  warden's  house,  all  in  the  most  antique 
style.  The  chapel  is  very  old,  and  needs  restoration  ;  but 
there  are  some  fine  windows  in  it,  and  it  is  interesting  in 
its  way." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  turning  over  the  pages  of  a  book," 
said  Philip  ;  "  every  minute  I  hear  of  something  new  in 
which  I  am  concerned." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Williamson,  "  it  must  be  so  odd  to 
you,  and  yet  very  pleasant  too,"  she  added,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Every  one  in  Rodham  will  be  paying  court  to  you,  and 
will  be  anxious  to  know  you — how  different  to  people  like 
us ;  when  w«*  came  here,  two  years  ago,  we  were 


OLD   THINGS   AND  NEW.  41 

nobodies ;  and  the  Cathedral  people  are  so  stiff  and 
exclusive." 

"Nonsense,  Mary,"  said  her  husband ;  "  I  cannot  endure 
social  fictions  like  that.  It  is  a  free  country,  and  we  may 
all  choose  our  own  friends,  and  we  are  none  of  us  boTind 
to  visit  this  person  or  the  other,  if  we  don't  wish  to  do 
so.  Randal,  if  you  teaze  Hilda  again,  I  will  send  you 
out  of  the  room." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  all  very  well,"  said  his  wife,  not  heeding 
the  paternal  rebuke,  which  finished  off  her  husband's 
sentence ;  "  but  Sir  Philip  will  agree  with  me  before  he  has 
lived  a  year  at  Roekdeane,  that  Rodham  society  is  very 
stupid,  and  that  people  here  give  themselves  the  most 
absurd  airs — the  Tillets  for  instance — Forster,  and  the 
Hiltons." 

Sir  Philip  saw  a  frown  on  Mr.  "Williamson's  face,  and 
hastened  to  say,  "If  this  household  is  a  specimen  of 
Rodham  society,  Mrs.  "Williamson,  I  am  quite  content. 
Now  I  think  I  must  turn  my  steps  towards  Rockdeane 
again,  where  I  shall  hope  often  to  see  you,  and  introduce 
you  to  my  mother  and  sister." 

"  Oh  !  won't  you  come  into  the  drawing-room,  Sir 
Philip  ?  I  am  not  going  to  church  again." 

"  N  o,  thanks,"  Philip  said  ;  and  then  he  took  a  courteous 
leave  of  Mrs.  Williamson,  his  host  accompanying  him  to  the 
door.  "When  it  had  closed  upon  him,  Mrs.  Williamson 
was  loud  in  his  praise. 

"  What  an  acquisition  he  will  be,  Forster.  I  wonder 
if  his  mother  and  sister,  of  whom  he  talks,  will  be  like 
him." 

"  Most  probably,  very  different ;  women's  heads  are 
sooner  turned  with  an  accession  of  fortune  than  men's. 
I  would  not  set  my  hopes  on  Mrs.  and  Miss  Dennistoun, 


42  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

if  I  were  you,  Mary,  neither  would  I  mention  names  in 
that  indiscreet  fashion  to  a  man  who  is  a  perfect 
stranger.  What  business  was  it  of  yours  to  trot  out  the 
weak  points  of  canons,  and  Tillets,  and  Hiltons  to  him  ?  " 

"  How  cross  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Williamson,  the  colour 
rising  to  her  face  ;  "  you  invariably  find  fault  with  me, 
but  I  don't  mind.  I  mean  to  be  great  friends  with  the 
Dennistouns,  and  I  shall  let  you  please  yourself" 

"  I  am  Sir  Philip's  man  of  business,"  was  the  answer, 
"  and  his  friend  too,  I  hope  ;  "  and  as  the  children  and 
their  mother  went  upstairs,  Mr.  Williamson  retreated  to 
his  study,  the  door  of  which  he  shut  in  the  decided 
manner  which  made  Hilda  say,  as  she  ran  up  to  her 
brother's  sofa,  "  Papa  is  gone  into  the  study,  and  nobody 
must  go  there  on  no  account." 

"  Is  Sir  Philip  gone,  mamma?"  Cuthbert  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  is." 

"  I  am  sorry  too,"  said  Cuthbert,  "  I  liked  him,  and  so 
did  auntie.  Now,  mother,  do  read  ;  "  and  in  Cuthbert's 
favoui'ite  Sunday  story  of  "  The  Tent  on  the  Plain," 
Mrs.  Williamson  forgot  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun. 


CHAPTER  III. 


HILDYAED'S  ALMSHOUSES. 


"  Miserere,  Domine  ! " 

THE  gate  of  Hildyard's  Almshouses  led  out  of  a  quiet, 
narrow  street  at  the  east  end  of  the  city  of  Rodham. 
Over  the  gateway  the  spread  eagle  of  the  Dennistouna 
presided,  whilst  their  arms  were  cut  in  a  shield,  round 
which  the  motto  was  carved  in  old  characters, — 

"%to  Cerium." 

As  Irene  passed  under  the  shadow  of  the  gateway 
on  this  bright  September  afternoon,  she  was  nearly  run 
over  by  the  brisk  little  warden,  who  just  pulled  himself 
up  in  'time  as  he  was  turning  out  of  the  door  of  his 
house,  which  was  opposite  the  chapel. 

"  Ah,  little  lady,"  he  said  ;  "  so  you  are  come  to  cheer 
up  the  old  people,  as  usual.  There  are  several  very  ailing 
to-day,  and  they  will  be  glad  enough  to  see  you.  St. 
Magdalen's  bell  warns  me  to  make  haste,  or  I  shall  be 
late.  Go  in  and  see  Mrs.  Bolton  if  you  have  five  minutes 
to  spare.  You  know  we  have  a  funeral  here  to-morrow, 
the  men  were  at  work  last  night  opening  the  vault ;  it 
is  forty  years  since  Lady  Dennistoun  was  buried.  There 
have  been  three  wardens  here  since  then." 


44  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

Mr.  Bolton  was  a  little  man,  very  agile  in  limb  and 
very  quick  in  speech.  He  had  no  dignity,  and  trotted  and 
ambled  off  as  if  he  were  on  wires.  Irene  had  scarcely 
time  even  to  respond  to  what  he  said  ;  and  then  she 
turned  to  cross  the  quadrangle  to  a  cottage  at  the  further 
end,  where  a  sick  and  garrulous  old  woman  lay,  very 
near  the  last  great  change,  which  we  call  Death. 

Irene  visited  several  houses,  and  performed  her  little, 
womanly  mission  of  comfort  and  sympathy,  reading  for  a 
few  minutes,  but  mostly  sitting  quietly  by  the  beds  of  the 
sick,  and  repeating  little  fragments  of  hymns  and  verses 
from  the  Bible,  as  they  could  bear  it.  There  are  diver- 
sities of  gifts,  and  these  gifts  differ  in  degree,  but  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  a  gentle,  melodious  voice,  which 
comes  to  us  as  an  expression  of  the  soul  of  the  speaker, 
is  the  very  highest  attraction  that  a  woman  can  possess. 
There  was  not  an  old  pensioner  in  Hildyard's  Almshouses 
that  did  not  own  the  power  which  Irene's  voice  possessed 
to  soothe  and  comfort  the  sick,  the  troubled,  and  the 
sad ;  and  none  felt  its  influence  more  than  the  wife  of  the 
warden,  who  seldom  left  the  precincts  of  that  quiet  retreat, 
and  who  had  led,  till  the  last  eighteen  months,  a  dull, 
lonely  life. 

Mrs.  Bolton  had  buried  every  hope,  as  far  as  earth  was 
concerned,  in  the  grave  of  an  only  son,  who  had  wrung 
her  own  and  her  husband's  heart  with  bitter  grief,  and 
had  died  in  a  distant  country  alone,  and  far  from  those 
who  had  loved  him  so  welL  It  was  when  she  was  bowed 
to  the  earth  with  this  sorrow  that  Irene  Clifford  had 
first  known  her.  It  was  about  the  time  her  own  mother 
died,  and  she  had  come  to  live  in  her  brother-in-law's 
house  at  Rodham.  She  had  sought  out  Mrs.  Bolton  as 
one  who  had  known  her  mother  in  her  youth,  and,  step 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSIIOUSES.  45 

by  step,  had  won  her  way  into  the  hearts  of  the  warden 
and  his  wife. 

"  Well,  dear,"  was  her  greeting,  "  you  are  welcome. 
How  is  little  Cuthbert  ? " 

"  He  has  been  stronger  the  last  few  days,  thanks ; 
and  how  are  you  ? "  Irene  said,  bending  over  her  old 
friend,  and  kissing  her  forehead. 

"  Pretty  well,  dear ;  it  is  one  of  my  sad  days.  My 
poor  boy's  birthday.  Boy,  I  call  him ;  he  would  have 
been  forty  now ;  and  it  seems  so  impossible — forty-one 
years  !  There  is  no  time  or  counting  of  days  and  weeks 
and  years  in  heaven  !  I  always  like  to  think  of  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Irene,  "it  is  a  timeless  shore  !" 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  him  again — just 
once — only  once,"  and  the  old  lady  sighed.  "  A  mother's 
love  cannot  change.  But  oh,  Irene,  it  is  so  hard  to  real- 
ize these  are  the  same  !"  And  the  poor  mother  took  from 
her  pocket  a  little  red  leather  case  and  in  an  envelope. 

The  case  contained  the  miniature  of  a  laughing,  rosy 
child ;  the  envelope  the  photograph  of  a  large,  coarse- 
featured  man,  with  full  lips,  and  bold,  bad  eyes. 

"  I  should  never  look  at  this,"  said  Irene,  taking  the 
envelope  from  the  trembling  hand.  "  Put  it  away,  dear 
Mrs.  Bolton,  and  forget  it.  The  little  child  is  wholly 
lost  in  this."  Irene  stopped ;  but  Mrs.  Bolton  con- 
tinued,— 

"  This  was  mine,  too — my  son,  my  son  !  Oh,  Irene, 
you  can't  fathom  such  grief,  my  dear  ! " 

"  I  know  it ;  but  God  can  and  does  sound  it  to  its  very 
depths,  and  He  can  comfort." 

"  Sing  to  me,  then,  darling,  some  hymn  that  Cuthbert 
likes,  for  he  and  I  always  agree  in  taste  as  to  your  songs 
and  hymns." 


46  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

Irene  went  to  the  little  cottage  piano  and  sang,  "  Brief 
Life  is  here  our  Portion;"  then,  "Paradise,  O  Paradise !" 
The  latter  was  one  of  little  Cuthbert's  special  favourites ; 
many  a  weary  night  had  been  shortened  and  whiled  away 
by  Irene's  voice,  as  she  sang,  low  and  soft,  of  the 
country  where  loyal  hearts  and  true  stand  ever  in  the 
light. 

As  the  last  notes  died  away,  a  ring  at  the  bell  was 
heard,  and  Mrs.  Bolton  had  scarcely  more  than  time  to 
say,  "  Who  can  it  be  ? "  when  her  little  maid  opened  the 
sitting-room  door,  and  said  : 

"  A  gentleman,  please,  ma'am,  wants  to  get  into  the 
chapel,  and  Mrs.  Gillett  is  out,  and  he  can't  have  the 
key." 

"  He  can  have  the  warden's  key.  But  who  is  it  ? 
Ask  his  name.  Or  will  you  go  and  speak  to  him,  Irene  ? 
Susan  is  so  stupid." 

"  I  will  go,  certainly,"  said  Irene,  seeing  her  old  friend 
looked  flurried  and  anxious.  And  she  quickly  passed 
Susan,  and,  in  the  narrow  passage,  confronted  Sir  Philip 
Dennistoun. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
was  directed  to  the  warden's  house  for  the  key,  as  the 
man  who  takes  charge  of  the  chapel  is  not  to  be  found." 

"  I  will  bring  the  key,"  Irene  said,  "  if  you  will  wait 
one  moment." 

"  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun — is  it  Sir  Philip?"  Mrs.  Bolton 
said,  when  Irene  returned.  "  How  unfortunate  that 
James  should  be  out ;  will  you  go  with  Sir  Philip  and 
unlock  the  door,  and  show  him  the  chapel  1 " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,  Mrs.  Bolton  ;  I  have  seen  him  before 
to-day,  and  will  act  as  guide  to  him  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Thanks,  darling.     I  know  James  will  be  so  vexed, 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  47 

and  so  afraid  proper  attention  was  not  paid  him.  You 
will  see  to  it,  Irene." 

Irene  smiled.  "  Oh,  yes,  trust  to  me  ;  "  and  then,  as 
quietly  and  gently  as  she  did  everything,  she  returned  to 
Sir  Philip,  the  key  in  her  hand,  and  said — "Mrs.  Bolton 
wishes  me  to  show  you  the  chapel,  Sir  Philip  j  she  is 
very  sorry  Mr.  Bolton  is  not  at  home." 

Philip  murmured  something  about  being  unwilling  to 
trouble  her,  and  then  they  crossed  the  square  together, 
Irene  a  little  in  advance. 

At  the  chapel  door  Philip  paused,  and,  looking  back 
over  the  quadrangle,  he  said — "  What  a  quaint  old  place 
this  is — the  abode  of  age.  One  could  not  fancy  any  one 
young  here." 

"  No. one  is  ever  young  in  Hildyard's  Almshouses.  A 
succession  of  old  people  live  here — never  younger  than 
sixty,  many  far  beyond  the  threescore  years." 

He  was  going  to  say  that  the  small  figure  before  him, 
in  the  plain  black  silk  dress  and  white  bonnet,  with  the 
heavy  keys  in  her  little  hand,  one  of  which  she  was  now 
fitting  into  the  lock,  looked  as  if  she  were  too  young  and 
too  fair  to  be  in  Hildyard's  Almshouses,  but  somehow 
the  words  died  on  his  lips.  Irene  was,  he  instinctively 
felt,  a  woman  to  whom  it  was  impossible  to  pay  com- 
pliments. 

She  held  the  door  for  him  to  pass,  and  they  stood  in  a 
small  vestibule,  which  was  separated  from  the  body  of  the 
chapel  by  a  lofty,  pointed  arch.  The  whole  building  was 
not  much  more  than  one  hundred  feet  long,  but  its  details 
were  in  exact  and  symmetrical  proportion.  The  chancel  was 
ascended  by  two  or  three  steps  from  the  aisle,  and  thoitgh 
whitewash  and  paint  had  done  their  worst,  no  one  could 
enter  the  chapel  without  being  struck  by  its  archi- 


48  HEIGHTS    AND   VALLEYS. 

tectural  beauty.  Pointed  windows,  with  trefoil  tracery, 
filled  with  dusky  coloured  glass,  admitted  but  a  dim 
light,  and  the  stone  which  was  raised  on  the  north  side, 
just  below  the  chancel  steps,  made  a  dark,  gloomy  patch  on 
the  floor,  which  had  been  recently  paved  with  flaring 
white  stones,  as  the  old  men  and  women  had  stumbled 
and  fallen  again  and  again  in  the  deep  crevices  which  the 
cracked  and  broken  flooring  had  left. 

"The  bones  of  many  of  my  ancestors  lie  here,  I 
suppose,"  Philip  said.  "  Ah  !  I  did  not  expect  to  find 
him ; "  and  Sir  Philip  read  from  an  old  marble  tablet, 
that  the  body  of  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  had  been  brought 
from  the  bloody  field  of  Edgehill,  and  was  buried  beneath 
on  September  1st,  1642. 

Then  there  was  a  space,  and  another  inscription  : — 
"  His  loving  wife,  Editha,  entered  joyfully  into  her  rest 
•with  him,  8th  February,  1643,  after  giving  birth  to  their 
son." 

The  words  were  in  old  characters,  and  hard  to  de- 
cipher. 

As  Sir  Philip  ended,  Irene  said,  "  That  monument 
opposite  records  the  virtues  of  their  son,  Sir  Jasper;  "  and 
Philip  glanced  at  a  long  Latin  inscription,  which  he  did 
not  attempt  to  read  through. 

It  was  closely  cut  in  a  small  slab  over  the  heads  of  Sir 
Jasper  and  his  wife,  the  Lady  Janet,  who  were  kneeling 
with  folded  hands,  two  daughters  and  three  sons  behind 
them,  in  that  stiff  position  which  suggests  a  chronic 
backache  to  contemplate. 

The  vault,  which  was  only  partially  covered,  was  just 
below,  and  for  a  few  moments  Philip  forgot  he  was  not 
alone,  and  stood  looking  down  in  it,  many  thoughts 
piissing  through  his  mind. 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  49 

Irene  -waited  patiently.  She  was  standing  under  Sir 
Philip's  tablet,  surmounted  with  its  sheathed  sword  and 
cross,  and  her  thoughts  naturally  turned  from  the  dead 
Sir  Philip  to  the  living  one  before  her.  She  was  quick  to 
make  up  her  mind  about  him,  and  to  register  in  her  heart 
that  he  was  not  an  unworthy  successor  of  the  gallant 
knight,  about  whose  memory  lingered  stories  of  valour, 
and  chivalry,  and  goodness,  which  needed  not  to  be  set 
forth  in  magniloquent  and  pompous  Latin  upon  his 
tombstone. 

Irene  felt  sure,  as  she  watched  Sir  Philip,  that  his  arm 
would  also  be  strong  for  the  protection  of  the  weak,  and 
that  he,  too,  would  wax  valiant  in  fight  for  a  righteous 
cause.  His  was  a  well-knit,  manly  frame,  and  his  head 
was  set  on  his  shoulders  with  that  air  of  conscious 
nobility  which  lies  so  far  apart  from  pride  or  arrogance, 
while  an  idea  of  strength  was  given  by  his  firm  mouth, 
and  straight,  wide  brow. 

Then,  as  she  was  looking  at  him,  he  turned  suddenly, 
and  began  to  apologize  for  keeping  her  so  long;  while 
his  eye,  which  was  accustomed  ever  to  linger  with  the 
keen  delight  of  an  artist  on  any  picture  that  was  fair 
and  pleasant,  lingered  with  admiration  on  the  one  now 
before  him. 

A  ray  of  western  sunlight  had  penetrated  through  the 
window  in  the  vestibule,  and  had  made  a  pathway  of 
brightness  across  the  dusky  chapel  to  the  spot  where 
Irene  stood.  It  illuminated  the  words  on  Sir  Philip's 
monument,  and  then  touched  the  small  head  below  it,  till 
it  shone  with  a  living  glory,  lighting  the  pale,  serene  face, 
so  that  it  seemed  to  Sir  Philip  that  the  aureole  of  a  saint 
had  surrounded  her.  She  looked  so  like  one  of  Carlo 
Dolci's  pictures  of  a  St.  Catharine  or  St.  Agnes,  the  dark 

I 


50  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

sombre  background  behind,  and  her  white  bonnet  and 
brown  hair  concentrating  the  light. 

"I  do  not  know  that  there  is  anything  else  to  show 
you,"  she  said,  as  Sir  Philip  moved  to  the  door.  "  If 
the  chapel  were  restored  it  would  be  beautiful,  but  the 
present  Warden  is  quite  content,  and  thinks  whitewash 
and  paint  cleanly  and  wholesome." 

"Sir  Jasper  never  came  here,  I  suppose,"  Philip 
said,  as  the  key  was  once  more  fitted  into  the  door,  and 
turned  on  the  other  side. 

"  I  think  not ;  but  I  have  only  known  the  chapel  for 
two  years." 

"  Good  bye.  Thank  you  very  much  for  taking  the 
trouble  to  show  me  the  chapel,"  he  said. 

Then  he  lingered  a  moment ;  and,  as  Irene  bowed,  and 
turned  towards  Mr.  Bolton's  house,  he  passed  under  the  old 
gateway  again,  and  into  the  qiiiet  street.  He  brushed 
against  the  good  old  Warden,  before  he  had  gone  twenty 
yards,  returning  full  trot  from  St.  Magdalen's  Church. 
Great  was  that  good  little  man's  dismay  when  he  reached 
home,  and  heard  fromhiswife  that  Sir  Philip  had  been  there, 
and  that  Irene  had  been  acting  as  his  guide  to  the 
chapel. 

"  Most  vexatious.  Not,  little  lady,  that  I  doubt  your 
desire  of  doing  the  best  in  my  place  ;  but  I  ought  to  have 
been  on  the  spot ;  or,  rather,  Sir  Philip  ought  to  have 
told  me  he  was  coming,  and  I  would  have  appointed  a 
proper  time.  However,  I  shall  see  him  to-morrow.  I 
am  to  return  to  Rockdeane  after  the  funeral,  so  Dr. 
Simpson  says — the  first  time  I  have  entered  the  house 
for,  let  me  see,  fifteen  years.  And  what  is  the  new 
Baronet  like,  my  dear  1  Describe  him." 

"  That  would  be  a  waste  of  words,  Mr.  Bolton,  as  you 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  51 

will  see  him  to-morrow  ;   besides,  don't  you  know  the 
point  of  sight  differs  in  different  people  1 " 

"  And  always  will ;  but,  my  dear,  the  point  of  sight 
would  be  much  the  same  with  any  one  who  looked  at 
you  now.  You  have  a  colour  to-day,  and  look  charming. 
Always  petite,  but  nevertheless  charming  !  " 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Mrs.  Bolton,"  Irene  said,  bending 
over  her  old  friend,  and  kissing  her  again  and  again. 
"  And  please  remind  Mr.  Bolton  to  go  in  and  see 
old  Mattie  early  to-morrow  if  he  does  not  go  this 
evening,  for  I  do  not  think  Mattie  will  be  here  many 
days." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  she  will,"  said  the  Warden.  He 
never  believed  death  was  near  the  old  people,  possibly 
because  they  were  always,  for  the  most  part,  feeble  and 
ailing  ;  and  he  was  accustomed  to  see  them  go  on,  adding 
year  after  year  to  the  tale,  which,  at  the  longest,  is  so 
soon  told. 

"Old  Gillett  ought  to  have  been  at  home  this  after- 
noon with  his  wife  if  she  is  so  ill,  and  not  gadding  about. 
He  was  not  at  church.  But  I  think  old  Mattie  has  a 
long  time  to  live  yet.  There  are  plenty  of  aspirants  for 
their  house,  I  can  tell  you,  however;  for  of  course  I 
shall  remove  Joe  Gillett  to  one  of  the  single  tenements 
Good-bye,  little  lady — good-bye." 

But  Irene  had  not  yet  done  with  Hildyard's  Alms- 
houses.  Old  Joe  Gillett,  the  recusant  sexton  of  the 
chapel,  stumbled  up  to  her,  as  she  left  the  Warden's 
house. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Miss,  but  my  ould  woman  is  taking 

on  so  that  I  was  out  when  the  gentleman  coom.  O'  course 

I  did  na  dream  of  guests  on  Sabbath  afternoon,  let  alone 

his  honour,  Sir  Philip,  for  I  hear  it  was  he,  and  no  one 

E  2 


52  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

elsa  He  pounded  at  the  door,  but  my  ould  woman  she 
was  'twixt  sleeping  and  waking,  and  o'  course  she  could 
not  rise  herself  to  get  the  key.  Wish  you'd  plase  to 
come  in  and  say  a  word  to  her,  for  yer  voice  is  always 
calming,  and  she  be  wandering,  she  be." 

"I  thought  her  very  ill,  Joe,  when  I  was  with  her. 
You  should  have  told  me  you  were  going  out.  I  would 
have  sat  with  your  wife.  Now  I  am  hurried,  for  I  have 
been  detained,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  bless  yer.  But  if  gentry  will  coom  'o  a  Sab- 
bath " 

Irene  preceded  Joe  into  the  cottage,  and  found  old 
Mattie  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  a  troubled,  far-away  look 
in  her  eyes.  Irene  drew  near,  and  stroked  the  withered 
hand  which  lay  helpless  outside  the  counterpane,  and 
tried  to  soothe  her  by  gentle  words  ;  but  Mattie  talked 
fast  and  incoherently.  She  was  wandering  in  the  days  of 
her  youth,  over  the  moors  beyond  Rockdeane.  Irene 
listened,  and  tried  to  catch  a  connected  phrase,  but  she 
heard  Sir  Jasper's  name  again  and  again,  and  then  Mattie 
called  "  Susie  !  Susie  !  "  who  was  wilful  and  headstrong, 
and  "  would  go  her  own  gait."  Then  Sir  Philip's  name 
was  on  her  lips.  She  had  seen  him,  she  said,  and  she  wanted 
him  to  listen  to  her.  She  had  something  to  tell  him. 
But,  no,  she  would  never  tell  him ;  why  should  she  ? 
Susie  would  have  her  way.  "  She'll  be  falling  over  the 
edge  of  the  scar.  I  know  she  will  There,  she  is  gone — 
gone — lost ! "  And  old  Mattie  held  Irene's  hand  tight, 
and  with  the  other  seemed  to  be  trying  to  save  something 
from  falling. 

"  She  was  not  like  this  when  I  saw  her  an  hour  ago. 
You  must  have  some  one  to  sit  up  with  her  to-night,  Joe. 
1  will  ask  Mrs.  Sampson  to  come." 


HILB YARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  53 

"  She'll  quiet  down  again.  I  expect  it  was  the  gentle- 
man a  pounding  at  the  door  that  upset  her.  There,  there, 
Mattie,  ould  woman,  Joe  is  with  thee." 

"  Aye,  aye  !  but  he's  a  deal  younger  than  me — quite  a 
young  man  ;  and  he  never  knew  Susie,  my  rose,  my 
flower.  There's  old  Sir  Jasper  a-coming  to  be  buried." 

"Hush,  Mattie,  hush  !  Listen  to  your  favourite 
hymn.  You  will  soon  see  Jesus  now,  Mattie." 

The  words  and  the  voice  of  the  speaker  acted  like  a 
charm ;  and  before  Irene  had  finished  the  last  verse  of 
"  Jerusalem,  the  Golden,"  old  Mattie  was  dozing  like  a 
tired  child,  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  as  visions  of  the  golden 
city  mingled  with  the  dreams  of  her  youth — the  big 
purple  moor  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  overarched  by  a  sky 
of  deepest  blue,  into  which  the  larks  rose,  singing  loud 
and  clear  in  the  vault  of  heaven. 

"Joe,  who  is  Susie,  that  Mattie  calls  so  often  1 "  Irene 
said,  as  the  old  man  went  with  her  to  the  door.  "  I  never 
heard  her  speak  of  any  Susie  before." 

"  Weel,  yer  see  I'm  her  second  husband,  I  be,  and  a 
sight  younger;  but  she  had  a  daughter  called  Susan, 
so  I've  heard  ;  but  Mattie  was  always  close.  She  used 
to  say,  'Ask  me  nae  questions,  and  I'll  tell  'ee  nae  lees.'" 

"  She  is  going  home  now,  Joe." 

"  I  don't  know — there's  the  Warden ;  he  said  she'd  be 
all  right  again  soon.  Maybe  he's  a  good  judge." 

Irene  bid  the  old  man  good-bye,  and  marvelled  at  the 
phlegmatic,  cool  way  in  which  Joe  refused  to  acknowledge 
his  wife's  state. 

"  But  she  must  have  a  nurse,"  Irene  said  to  herself; 
and  she  tripped  up  the  court  again  to  Mrs.  Sampson's 
cottage,  and  called  her  from  her  Sunday  tea  of  cresses  and 


54  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

shrimps,  which  she  was  sharing  with  a  neighbour,  to  beg 
her  to  go  to  old  Mattie  Gillett  as  soon  as  possible,  "  for 
I  feel  sure  she  is  dying,"  Irene  added. 

Mrs.  Sampson  was  the  inmate  of  the  Almshouses  who 
acted  as  nurse.  She  curtsied  to  Miss  Clifford,  and  said 
she  would  attend  to  Mrs.  Gillett,  and  adding,  as  she 
smoothed  her  apron,  and  threw  the  wide  green  strings 
of  her  best  cap  over  her  portly  shoulders,  "  that  it  would 
be  the  strangest  thing  if  Mattie's  grave  was  opened  just 
when  Sir  Jasper's  was." 

"  Why  should  it  be  strange  1  "What  can  they  have 
to  do  with  each  other?"  Irene  thought,  as  she  walked 
quietly  homewards.  "  Perhaps  Mattie  was  an  old  servant 
of  Sir  Jasper's.  I  will  ask  Mr.  Bolton  if  he  knows, 
to-morrow." 

When  Irene  rang  the  bell,  Kandal  opened  the  door. 

"  Auntie,  you  are  very  late  ;  we  are  all  at  teal" 

"  Yes,  Randal,  I  know  I  am;  tell  mamma,  I  won't 
be  a  minute."  And  Irene  ran  upstairs,  pausing  in  the 
dra wing-  room,  to  see  what  Cuthbert  was  doing. 

Cuthbert's  tea  was  laid  out  on  a  little  invalid  table, 
which  was  screwed  to  his  couch.  "  Auntie,  come  here." 

"  I  must  go  down  to  tea,  Cuthbert,  it  is  so  late." 

"  Didn't  you  like  Sir  Philip  ?  I  did ;  he  looked  so 
straight  and  upright.  And  oh,  auntie  " — down  went  the 
voice  into  a  choked  whisper — "  oh,  auntie,  as  he  stood 
up  there,  I  felt  what  I  always  must  be." 

"  Haven't  we  settled  long  ago,  Cuthbert,  that  it 
doesn't  matter  what  our  bodies  are  ?  If  only  our  souls 
be  big,  and  grand,  and  true,  and  noble,  what  does  it 
signify  ? " 

"  Ah,  auntie,  but  it  must  be  nice  to  have  a  body  like 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  55 

Sir  Philip's.  Think  of  all  he  can  do ;  and  I  shall  never, 
never  do  anything." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  my  darling ;  God  has  work  for  you, 
as  well  as  for  the  Sir  Philips  of  the  world." 

"  It's  hard  to  see  what  it  can  be,"  said  Cuthbert  rue- 
fully. "  But  they  are  calling  again;  do  go,  mother  is  —  " 
Cuthbert  stopped,  and  Irene  departed. 

"  There  is  only  cold  tea  for  you,  Irene,"  was  her 
sister's  remark  as  she  sat  down  to  the  table,  "  and  no 
toast." 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  said  Randal ;  "  I've  put  it  on  auntie's 
plate,  and  buttered  it  for  you.  Hilda  is  so  greedy,  she 
would  have  eaten  it,  if  I  hadn't  stopped  her." 

"  Hush,  Randal " — as  little  Hilda  began  to  pout — 
"  don't  make  mischief ;  but  thank  you  for  thinking 
of  me." 

"  Irene,  where  have  you  been  ? "  asked  her  sister. 
"  Forster  is  gone.  You  are  generally  at  home  by  five 
o'clock ;  you  seemed  in  a  great  hurry  to  leave  the  table 
at  dinner,  which,  as  a  stranger  was  present,  I  thought 
was  scarcely  polite." 

"  I  don't  think  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  would  miss  me," 
said  Irene,  smiling ;  "  but  he  certainly  must  be  answer- 
able for  my  late  appearance  at  tea,  for  I  had  to  show 
him  the  chapel  at  the  almshouses." 

"  Show  him  the  chapel ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Williamson, 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  interest.  "  How  extraordinary ! 
Do  tell  me  what  he  said,  and  how  did  it  happen  ?  Where 
was  Mr.  Bolton  ?  And  I  thought  the  old  man  who 
cleans  the  chapel  had  a  key  ? " 

"  So  he  has ;  but  he  was  taking  a  Sunday  afternoon 
stroll  when  Sir  Philip  arrived;  and  then  one  of  the 
neighbours  directed  him  to  the  Warden's  house  for  the 


56  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

key.  Mr.  Bolton  was  at  St.  Magdalen's,  and  I  was  with 
his  wife.  As  she  is  incapable,  I  had  to  perform  the  office 
of  guide ;  that  is  all." 

"All !  Really,  I  think  it  is  odd  you  should  take  it  so 
calmly.  What  did  Sir  Philip  say » " 

"Not  much." 

"  And  you  said  less,  I  don't  doubt ;  you  are  so  incom- 
prehensible, Irene ;  and  though  it  has  not  much  to  do 
with  the  subject,  I  do  wish  you  would  wear  colours 
again.  I  felt  to-day  Sir  Philip  would  hardly  think  we 
were  sisters.  Why  should  you  be  in  black  [and  I 
in  colours  ?  A  girl  of  your  age  cannot  always  wear 
mourning." 

"  I  should  not  think  of  changing  my  dress  for — for — 
our  mother,  under  two  years,"  Irene  said ;  "  but  my 
mourning  is  now  so  unobtrusive  that  I  think  no  one 
could  notice  it." 

"  Well,  you  will  find  yourself  mistaken,  Irene ;  it  was 
only  on  Thursday  that  Margaret  Thornycroffc  asked  me 
how  long  mamma  had  been  dead,  and  when  I  said,  'Two 
years  on  All  Saints'-day,'  she  said — " 

"  I  never  think  twice  about  what  such  people  as  Mar- 
garet Thornycroft  say,"  Irene  answered.  "  So  don't 
trouble  yourself  to  repeat  it." 

It  was  not  often  that  the  colour  flushed  in  her  cheek, 
or  fire  kindled  in  those  dark  serene  eyes  ;  but  her  sister's 
next  words  recalled  her  to  her  wonted  self. 

"  You  needn't  get  angry  about  it,  Irene.  People  who 
know  us,  understand  you.  Only  I  do  hope,  by  the  time 
the  Dennistouns  come,  you  will  have  changed  your  style 
of  dress." 

"  I  am  sure  mother  would  say  I  was  very  silly  to  vex 
myself  about  such  a  trifle  as  whether  Margaret  Thorny- 


HILDYARDS   ALMSHOUSES.  57 

croft  chose  to  comment  on  my  black  gown  or  not. 
Are  you  going  to  church  this  evening  1 " 

"  Yes,  Forster  is  coming  -with  me  to  All  Saints'.  You 
can  stay  with  the  children,  I  suppose  T' 

"  Yes ;  come,  Randal,  let  us  go  up  to  Cuthbert,  and 
Hilda  too,"  and  then  she  ran  upstairs  so  quickly  that  even 
Randal  could  scarcely  keep  pace  with  her.  While  the  two 
children  went  to  the  nursery  to  wash  their  hands  and 
faces,  Irene  returned  to  Cuthbert,  and  sitting  down  on  a 
low  stool  by  his  couch,  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Tired,  auntie  1  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  No,  Cuthbert,  I  will  read  directly  or  talk,  which  you 
like  best ;  let  us  be  quiet  for  two  minutes." 

' '  Yes,"  said  the  child  j  and  then  there  was  silence  in 
the  room,  while  the  church  bells  began  to  chime  for 
evening  prayer  from  the  towers  and  steeples  ;  and  through 
the  open  window  came  the  cool  crisp  September  breeze, 
sighing  a  little  as  it  touched  the  shrubs  and  trees  in 
Eccleston  Square,  reminding  the  fading  leaves  that  the 
glory  of  the  year  was  passed,  and  that  the  time  of  decay 
and  change  drew  near. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  grannie,  auntie  1 "  was  the  boy's 
question  presently. 

"  Yes,  Cuthbert,  she  is  seldom  absent  from  my 
thoughts." 

"  Mother  loved  her,  too,  very  much,  did  not  she  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,  very  very  much,  but  grannie  was  myall;  and 
mamma  has  so  many  to  love  and  so  many  who  love  her." 

"  So  have  you,"  said  the  boy  quickly,  "  lots  and  lots  ; 
and  then  you've  got  me,  auntie ;  you  are  such  a  help  to  me." 

Irene  smiled  and  kissed  him,  and  then  rousing  herself, 
as  she  heard  the  sound  of  coming  feet,  she  went  to  meet 
little  Hilda ;  and,  taking  her  on  her  knee,  began  the 


58  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

children's  Sunday  evening  by  telling  her  the  stories  that 
never  sounded  so  interesting  as  when  auntie's  voice 
related  them. 

Of  all  the  stern  decrees  of  that  relentless  goddess, 
fashion,  who  rules  us  in  our  times  of  joy  and  in  our  times 
of  grief,  with  such  a  potent  sway,  none,  I  think,  are  so 
pitiful  as  the  sombre,  heavy  display  of  a  funeral.  Sir 
Jasper  Dennistoun's,  of  Rockdeane,  had  been  put  into 
the  hand  of  one  of  the  leading  tradesmen  of  Rodham, 
and  he  had  done  his  best  and  worst.  Nodding  plumes ; 
encumbered  horses,  who  stepped  warily  and  slowly  under 
the  weight  of  velvet  and  fringe;  senseless  mutes, 
arrayed  in  grim  order  in  their  ugly  garments ; 
mourners — ah  !  what  a  mockery  does  the  word  sound — 
mourners,  in  enormous  scarfs  of  crape  or  silk,  the  material 
regulated  according  to  the  degree  of  relationship,  hideous 
trailing  tails  from  their  hats,  whence  all  vestige  of 
pristine  form  is  taken.  All  these  things  were  the  features 
of  Sir  Jasper's  funeral  cortege,  as  it  swept  down  the 
avenue,  and  emerged  into  the  Rodham  road,  passing 
through  streets,  where  hundreds  paused  in  their  day's 
occupation  to  wonder  and  admire,  till  it  stopped  at  the  old 
gateway  of  Hildyard's  Almshouses,  and  the  Warden  came 
out  to  meet  the  heavy  coffin — the  sublime  words  of  life 
upon  his  lips,  whereby  the  Church  would  fain  raise 
tearful  eyes  to  things  far  above,  and  beyond  all  this 
miserable  show  and  foolish  pomp. 

Even  as  I  write  this,  I  feel  the  day  for  ail  this 
wretched  pageantry  is  passing  away.  The  number  of 
such  funerals  as  Sir  Jasper's  is  steadily  on  the  decrease, 
and  we  shall,  ere  long,  see  them  vanish  from  amongst 
us  altogether.  Brighter  symbols  of  a  holy  and 
blessed  future  shall  take  the  place  of  these  ponderous 


HILDYARD  S   ALMSHOUSES.  O'J 

tokens  of  earth  and  earth's  vanities.  Simple  and  plain 
will  be  the  arrangements  of  a  Christian  funeral,  and  the 
ghosts  of  enormous  expenses  shall  not  force  themselves  to 
mind,  like  guests  unbidden,  even  in  the  time  of  our 
bitterest  woe,  and  add,  as  in  many  cases,  another  drop  to 
cups  already  overflowing  with  anxiety  and  distress. 

"  I  hope  you  were  satisfied  with  the  arrangements 
to-day,  my  dear  Sir  Philip,"  Dr.  Simpson  asked  blandly, 
as  he  and  the  Warden  and  Mr.  Williamson  sat  together 
over  the  remnants  of  a  midday  cold  repast. 

"  We  put  it  into  the  hands  of  Thornbury  and  Jones, 
did  we  not  Mr.  Williamson  ?  feeling  sure  justice  would 
be  done  to  the  memory  of  our  late  dear  friend.  I  sup- 
pose you  noticed  the  carriages  of  many  of  the  leading 
gentry  followed  as  a  mark  of  respect  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  five  or  six  private  carriages,"  said  Philip  ; 
"but  I  suppose  none  of  the  owners  were  personally 
acquainted  with  Sir  Jasper  1 " 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  the  name  ot  Dennistoun 
carries  its  weight  in  the  county.  The  Earl  of  Lynmore's 
carriage  was  first,  then  Lord  Osborne's,  Sir  Wilton  St. 
John's,  and  Sir  Henry  Birkshaw's.  Sir  Henry  is  High 
Sheriff  for  the  current  year." 

How  bored  Philip  got  as  the  little  Doctor  went  on  in  a 
similar  strain. 

It  was  quite  a  relief  when  Mr.  Williamson  said  he 
would  read  the  will ;  and,  ringing  the  bell,  Sir  Philip  told 
Forrest  that  he  wished  all  the  servants  to  assemble  in  the 
library,  that  they  might  hear  that  their  old  master  had 
not  been  unmindful  of  their  years  of  service. 

"  I  am  sorry  the  bailiff,  Mr.  Smith,  continues  too  ill  to 
be  present  to-day,"  Dr.  Simpson  said;  "but  he  is  really 
in  a  precarious  state." 


60  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

When  the  servants  were  assembled,  Mr.  Williamson 
was  about  to  begin  to  read,  when  Sir  Philip  stopped  him : 
"  May  I  say  a  few  words  first  ?  " 

Then  the  young  Baronet  addressed  the  servants  in  a 
frank,  genial  manner,  that  won  all  their  hearts. 

Even  Mrs.  Mason's  small,  light  eyes  were  for  once 
caught  looking  full  in  the  face  of  the  speaker,  while  the 
other  maids  w^re  moved  in  some  unexplained  way  to 
tears,  which  they  could  not  repress. 

When  it  was  over,  and  the  household  had  dispersed,  Sir 
Philip  turned  to  Dr.  Simpson  :  "  Mr.  Williamson  does 
not  know  who  the  person  named  in  the  will,  in  Canter- 
bury, New  Zealand,  is  ;  can  you  enlighten  us  as  to 
Susanna  Cleveland? " 

"  I  do  so  regret — I  do  deplore,  that  Mr.  Balfour  left 
no  instructions,  no  information  on  this  point  I  imagine 
you  have  made  every  proper  search,  Mr.  Williamson  1 " 

"  I  find  no  paper  which  explains  who  Susanna  Cleve- 
land is,  except  the  receipts  and  acknowledgments  for  the 
yearly  remittance.  Perhaps,  in  looking  over  the  private 
letters,  some  light  may  be  thrown  upon  her  identity." 

"  If  not,  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  of  any  importance," 
said  Sir  Philip  ;  "  it  always  seems  to  me  treachery  to  pry 
into  the  secrets  of  the  dead." 

"  Unless  they  in  any  way  affect  the  interests  of  the 
living,"  said  the  Warden. 

"  That  is  hardly  probable  in  this  case,"  was  Philip's 
reply.  "Most  likely  Susanna  Cleveland  belongs  to  the 
dead  past,  which  must  bury  its  dead." 

"  Most  likely,  indeed,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  and  I  think 
Sir  Philip  exercises  sound  discretion  in  his  determination. 
I  presume  you  will  remain  at  Rockdeane  some  days,  Sir 
Philip  ?" 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  61 

"I  must  return  to  London  before  the  end  of  the  week," 
Philip  answered.  "I  have  some  arrangements  to  make 
there." 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  "Western  Circuit  will  lose  its  brightest 
ornament,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Philip  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  turning  to  the 
Warden,  began  to  talk  about  Hildyard's  Chapel  and  the 
Almshouses,  asking  many  questions  as  to  the  endowments 
and  the  services. 

"  Oh,  there  is  one  service  a  week — enough  for  the  old 
folks,  I  assure  you — alternate  morning  and  afternoon, 
every  Sunday.  I  could  not  serve  St.  Magdalen's  without 
a  curate,  you  see,  unless  such  an  arrangement  was  made." 

"  Did  the  present  arrangement  begin  with  you  ]  "  Sir 
Philip  asked. 

"  Dear  me,  no ;  but  who  would  wish  to  work  a  man  to 
death  at  my  time  of  life  ?  I  could  not  stand  any  addition 
to  my  day's  routine,  and  those  poor  old  souls,  with  one  foot 
in  the  grave,  are  always  thinking  they  want  to  see  the 
parson,  though  I  do  them  small  good.  One  died  this 
morning — old  Mattie  Gillett ;  she  was  a  great  age." 

One  by  one  the  guests  departed,  and  Sir  Philip  was 
left  alone — alone — the  possessor  of  Rockdeane.  A  strange 
feeling  of  loneliness  oppressed  him,  and  he  set  out  for  a 
walk  over  the  moor,  which  stretched  away  for  some  miles 
in  the  opposite  direction  to  Rodham.  The  pure  autumn 
air,  so  crisp  and  fresh  as  the  sun  moved  to  the  west, 
exhilarated  and  refreshed  him.  To  him  exercise  was 
always  as  medicine  to  heal  any  sickness  of  mind.  Like 
all  really  swift  walkers,  he  always  seemed  to  a  looker-on 
to  be  only  getting  over  the  ground  at  a  leisurely  pace, 
and,  as  in  everything  he  did  so  there  was  in  this,  never 
any  evidence  of  haste.  The  level  of  the  moor  was  broken. 


62  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

by  little  mounds  formed  by  the  boulders  of  granite, 
which  were  covered  by  turf  and  heather.  About  a  mile 
beyond  Rockdeane  there  was  a  knoll  a  little  higher  than 
the  rest,  marked  by  a  rough  stone,  which  had  probably 
borne  the  cold  and  heat  of  centuries  on  its  rugged  surface. 
At  this  point  Philip  paused,  and  a  glorious  panorama 
stretched  before  him,  glowing  in  the  afternoon  light, 
and  extending  in  every  direction  for  many  miles.  Like 
many  other  hale  and  active  Englishmen,  who  have  a  taste 
for  travel  and  exploring  the  secrets  of  mountains  and 
glaciers,  Philip  Dennistoun  knew  comparatively  little  of 
his  own  country.  To  those  whose  professions  confine 
them  to  any  particular  beat,  as  his  did.  entire  change 
seemed  necessary.  Change  of  language,  dress,  and  habits, 
give  a  zest  to  travel,  and  this  in  some  measure  accounts 
for  the  numbers  of  athletic  pedestrians  who,  year  by  year, 
resort  with  delight  to  the  Alps  of  Switzerland  and  the 
Lakes  of  Italy,  and  never  think  of  the  enjoyment  which 
is  attainable  for  them  in  the  purple  fastnesses  and  moun- 
tains of  their  fatherland. 

Now,  as  Philip's  eye  rested  on  the  outline  of  the  Lake 
Mountains,  and  saw  the  proud  heads  of  Skiddaw  and 
Helvellyn  clearly  defined  against  the  sky — a  sky  so  in- 
tensely blue  above,  and  taking  the  daffodil  colour  of  sunset 
in  the  west,  blended  with  the  tenderest  crimson — he  felt 
those  dark  encircling  hills  to  be  as  friends,  and  they 
brought  to  his  soul  a  message  of  stedfastness  and  strength, 
as  from  the  City  which  hath  foundations. 

The  Spirit  of  God  speaks  to  us  with  many  voices.  Our 
spirits,  clouded  by  the  dark  shadows  of  the  world, 
"  deafened  by  earth's  din,"  too  often  respond  but  feebly 
to  revelations,  and  which  would  be  so  full  and  grand 
could  we  but  stretch  out  with  faithful  hearts  to  grasp 


HILDYARD'S  ALMSHOUSES.  63 

them.  But  there  are  moments  in  the  lives  of  most  men 
and  women  when,  in  the  visible  glory  of  created  things, 
we  feel  the  invisible  glory  of  the  Creator ;  nay,  more,  in 
the  beauty  of  what  is  an  earthly  paradise,  we  feel  the 
love  which  has  made  sure  for  us  a  heavenly  inheritance, 
incorruptible,  tmdefiled,  which  fadeth  not  away. 

Philip  Dennistoun  never  said  fine  things  of  himself  or 
of  his  feelings.  Those  who  knew  him  best  could  not 
have  told  what  particular  shade  of  opinion  he  held,  in 
what  is  called  religion.  But  his  was  not  the  unstable 
soul,  carried  about  with  eveiy  wind  of  doctrine,  or  the 
feeble  soul,  taking  its  colour,  chameleon-like,  from  the 
object  that  is  nearest  at  the  moment.  Eather  was  it  like  the 
rock,  which  in  sunshine  and  shadow,  storm  and  calm, 
stands  unmoved  and  firm.  His  nature  had  its  roughnesses 
and  inequalities  ;  his  very  aspiration  after  great  things 
might,  without  self- discipline,  merge  into  ambition.  But 
as  I  write  of  him  I  know  that,  in  the  voyage  over  life's 
sea,  he  will  not  make  shipwreck,  but  I  know  he  will 
come  forth  like  gold  from  the  crucible — pure,  and  refined 
by  the  fire.  "When  he  rests  from  the  conflict,  and  sheaths 
his  sword  in  victory,  it  will  be  said  of  him,  as  of  his 
ancestor,  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  Knight,  and  of  one 
greater  than  him,  "  He  has  fought  a  good  fight." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


IRENE. 


"  You  love,  remaining  peacefully, 
To  hear  the  murmur  of  the  strife, 
But  enter  not  the  toil  of  life  ; 
Your  spirit  is  the  calmed  sea 
Laid  by  the  tumult  of  the  fight  ; 
You  are  the  evening  star,  always 
Remaining  betwixt  dark  and  bright 


"  AUXTIE,  let  me  go  down  just  a  little  way,  and  get  those 
big  blackberries." 

"  Let  me  see  if  it  is  safe,  Randal,"  and  Irene  Clifford 
•went  to  the  edge  of  the  steep  bank  overlooking  the 
stream  which  flowed  tinder  Rockdeane,  and  looked  down. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  it  is  safe  enough  ;  there  are  steps.  Look, 
Auntie,  quite  a  little  path  —  just  to  that  first  ledge  ;  do 
you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,  Randal,  but  it  is  very  steep,  and,  moreover, 
it  is  getting  late.  We  have  three  miles  to  walk  home, 
and  the  days  are  short  now." 

They  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream  to  Rock- 
deane, having  walked  through  lanes  and  fields  to  the 
small  hamlet,  which  was  composed  of  the  cottages  and 
imall  farms  of  the  Rockdume  tenants,  all  small  and 


IRENE.  65 

insignificant,  the  largest  occupied  by  Mr.  Smith,  the 
steward,  whose  illness  had  prevented  his  being  present  at 
Sir  Jasper's  funeral.  The  bank  on  this  side  of  the  stream 
was  much  lower  than  the  one,  on  the  very  brink  of  which 
the  walls  of  Rockdeane  rose  grave  and  stern  ;  but,  though 
scarcely  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  it  was 
precipitous  ;  and  what  Randal  called  steps  were  in  reality 
only  ledges  of  stone,  leading  on  to  a  small  plateau,  from 
which  the  face  of  the  rock  dipped  sheer  down  to  the 
stream  for  some  fifty  or  sixty  feet.  Randal  paused,  he 
had  already  begun  to  descend,  but  Irene's  decided  order 
brought  him  back.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  like  to  be 
beaten,  and  began  to  murmur  something  to  the  effect 
that  "  all  girls  were  cowards,  big  and  little.  Hilda  was  a 
little  one,  and  Aunt  Irene  was  "  — 

"  A  big  one.  Very  likely  true,  Randal ;  but  there  is  a 
wide  step  between  being  courageous  and  being  foolhardy." 

"  I  told  Cuthbert  I  would  bring  him  some  fine  black- 
berries— a  lot  growing  all  on  one  stalk.  These  are  such 
little  bits  of  things." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  gave  the  basket  a  contemptuous 
rattle,  which  sent  some  of  the  blackberries  flying  in 
different  directions.  Irene  had  reseated  herself  on  the 
stump  of  a  fallen  tree  for  a  few  minutes'  rest,  and  was 
looking  across  to  the  dark  walls  of  Rockdeane,  over  which 
one  gleam  of  western  sun  was  lying  like  a  band  of  gold. 

"  There  he  goes  !  "  broke  from  Randal ;  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  off  through  the  brambles  and  long  grass, 
chasing  a  brown  rabbit  to  its  hole.  As  the  boy  disappeared 
in  the  brushwood,  Irene  rose,  and  followed  him  through 
the  tangled  maze  of  ferns,  and  brake,  and  heather. 

"Take  care,  Randal,"  she  called;  "we  are  very  near 
the  edge,  here.  Randal !  " 

F 


66  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLETS. 

But  Randal  did  not  answer.  Presently  she  heard  a 
shout,  "  Auntie,  it's  all  right ;  I've  got  them  ! "  And 
on  looking  down  the  bank,  just  above  the  place  where 
she  had  stood  five  minutes  before,  she  saw  the  boy's  head, 
and  she  caught  sight  of  his  outstretched  arm  trying  to 
reach  the  cluster  of  blackberries,  which  were  waving 
over  the  last  ledge  of  granite  above  the  narrow  plateau  I 
have  described. 

"  Come  back  instantly,  Randal,"  Irene  said,  as  quietly 
as  she  could.  "  Randal ! "  And  as  the  name  left  her 
lips,  she  saw  the  little  arm  again  near  the  prize,  while 
the  boy's  head  slipped  out  of  sight>  and  she  heard  his 
voice  lower  down. 

"  Auntie,  I  have  lost  my  footing  !  Can  you  come  1  * 
Then  again,  with  a  ring  of  terror  in  the  loud,  young 
voice,  "Auntie,  I  am  trying  to  hold  on.  Do 
come !  " 

Irene's  small,  light  figure,  had  soon  descended  within 
sight  of  the  boy;  but,  to  her  horror,  she  saw  he  was 
literally  swinging  in  the  air,  clutching  with  one  hand  a 
branch  of  maple,  which  grew  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock, 
while  with  the  other  he  was  trying  to  grasp  the  rough 
points  of  stone  from  which  his  feet  had  slipped  when  he 
lost  his  balance  in  his  effort  to  reach  the  branch  of 
brambles  on  which  the  tempting  clusters  of  blackberries 
hung.  Irene  saw  at  a  glance  her  position.  She  must 
catch  the  boy's  arm,  by  stooping  towards  him,  and  try  to 
retain  her  own  footing  on  the  very  slippery  ledge  just 
above  him.  If  that  were  lost,  they  must  both  fall  over 
the  brink  of  the  narrow  plateau  on  to  the  rocky  bed  of 
the  river,  sixty  feet  below. 

11  Keep  still,  Randal,"  she  said,  "  quite  still,  till  I  tell 
you  to  move." 


IRENE.  G7 

It  all  seemed  to  her  dream-like  and  unreal — 
a  moment  of  danger  to  the  boy  and  to  herself, 
scarcely  recognised  as  it  passed.  But  her  presence  of 
mind  did  not  forsake  her.  Quiet  and  gentle  natures  have 
mostly  this  self-command  in  times  of  need.  Steadying 
herself  with  one  hand  with  the  upper  branch  of  the  same 
maple  to  which  the  child  hung,  she  bent  forward,  and 
caught  the  hand  which  was  clinging  desperately  to  the 
irregular  fragment  of  stone  above  him. 

"  Auntie,  I  can't  hold  long,  take  care  I  don't  pull  you 
down." 

Irene  slipped  into  a  sitting  position,  and  fearing  to  tell 
the  child  to  relinquish  his  hold  of  the  maple,  she  grasped 
his  arm  firmly,  and  paused  to  consider  what  it  was  best  to 
do  next.  If  he  suddenly  let  go  the  support  of  the  maple 
branch,  they  might  both  be  displaced  by  the  shock,  and 
Irene  doubted  her  power  of  pulling  Randal  up  to  her 
own  perilous  position. 

"  I  have  got  your  arm  firmly,  Randal,"  she  said;  "you 
are  safer  now ;  let  us  wait  a  minute,  perhaps  help  may 
come."  It  was  but  a  moment,  but  it  seemed  an  hour ; 
the  stream  bubbled  and  murmured  below,  the  birds  sang 
in  the  Rockdeane  trees,  the  rooks  cawed,  some  cattle 
lowed  in  the  distance  ;  but  no  help  came.  On  the  calm 
still  air  was  faintly  borne  the  sound  of  the  Cathedral 
chimes  at  Rodham.  They  sounded  three  times — it 
was  a  quarter  to  five.  "  They  will  be  getting  anxious 
about  us.  I  have  come  too  far  with  the  boy,"  she  thought, 
"  and  he  has  a  cold  too.  Mary  will  think  I  am  not  to  ba 
trusted." 

"  Auntie,"  Randal  spoke  now,  "  my  arm  aches 
dreadfully,  can't  you  pull  me  up  ? "  The  child's  face 
was  partly  turned  to  her,  and  she  saw  it  was  very  pale. 
He  was  getting  faint  with  the  strain  upon  him. 


68  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  One  minute  more,  Randal,  dear.  I  feel  as  if  help 
would  come.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  pull  you  up,  if  I  try." 
"  "We  shall  both  go  over,"  was  her  thought,  but  she  did  not 
put  it  into  words.  For  another  moment  Irene  paused, 
and  there  came  to  her  a  sense  of  strength  and  protection, 
vivid,  real,  and  unquestioned,  such  as  only  souls,  who 
live  near  their  Lord  day  by  day,  can  know.  "  He  will, 
in  times  of  need  and  peril,  not  suffer  thy  feet  to  be  moved. 
He  that  keepeth  thee  will  not  sleep." 

"  Auntie,"  the  voice  was  very  feeble  and  weak, 
"  Auntie,  it  was  all  my  fault,  tell  mother  so." 

"  Randal,"  she  spoke  sharply,  to  rouse  the  child, 
"  I  have  your  arm  safe ;  when  you  leave  hold  of  the 
branch,  try  to  swing  your  feet  up  to  the  ledge  on  which 
I  am,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  Now,  dear  !  " 

But  as  she  spoke,  another  voice  sounded — "  Stop,  one 
moment !  "  and  then  there  was  a  sound  of  the  breathing  of 
a  man  who  had  exhausted  himself  with  rapid  exercise,  and 
Philip  Dennistoun's  head  appeared  amongst  the  brush- 
wood to  the  left,  thrusting  the  thick  boughs  aside  with 
his  strong  arm,  and  swinging  himself  at  last  lightly  on 
the  ledge  where  Irene  sat. 

"  I  have  you  safe,  my  boy,"  he  said  ;  and,  stooping  for- 
ward, he  steadied  himself  with  the  stem  of  the  tree,  and  with 
the  other,  took  Randal  gently  from  his  perilous  position,  and 
laid  him  on  the  broken  ground  just  above  Irene's  head. 
It  had  been  nothing  to  an  Alpine  climber  to  find  his  way 
down  the  rocky  scar  on  the  other  side,  cross  the  narrow 
stream,  and  ascend  by  a  circuitous  route  to  the  spot  where 
Randal  had  slipped. 

"  He  will  be  all  right  directly,"  he  said  to  Irene. 
'I  will  carry  him  to  the  top,  and  return  for  you." 

A  few  giant  strides  took  him  there,  and  brought  him  back 


IRENE-  69 

again.  "  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  are  as  pale  as  the  boy. 
I  saw  it  all  from  the  terrace.  I  saw  him  slip,  and  found 
my  way  here.  I  would  not  call  or  shout  to  yoxi,  for 
fear  I  should  unnerve  you." 

Irene's  face  was  very  pale,  and  she  sank  down  on  the 
heather,  by  Randal's  side,  without  a  word. 

"  Oh !  Auntie,"  and  then  poor  Randal's  courage 
deserted  him,  and,  forgetting  the  dignity  of  his  nine  years, 
the  tears  burst  forth.  Irene  put  her  arm  round  him,  and 
laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder.  "  Auntie,  I  thought  we 
were  going  over,  I  thought " 

"We  were  in  great  danger,  Randal  ;  but  God  had 
His  eye  on  us,  and  kept  us  safe  ;  we  must  be  very 
thankful." 

"  Yes,"  and  Randal's  sobs  grew  quicker. 

Oh !  that  he  should  be  caught  crying  like  a  baby  by  a 
man,  and  that  man  Sir  Philip  too  !  to  whom  he  had 
talked  so  grandly  on  Sunday  of  all  he  could  do. 

"  Does  your  arm  hurt  you  now  1 " 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  mind  that.  How  could  you  come  to 
us  so  quickly  1 "  he  asked  of  Philip.  "  I  saw  you  over  there, 
when  I  ran  after  the  rabbit." 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  a  lucky  thing  I  saw  you,  my  boy. 
Those  dandy  red  stockings  of  yours  caught  my  eye  amongst 
the  bushes.  I  thought  you  might  be  some  moor  bird,  at 
first,  with  very  black  feathers  and  very  scarlet  legs." 

"  We  must  go  home  now,  Randal,"  said  Irene  ;  "  let 
us  try  to  walk  as  fast  as  we  can.  Your  mother  will  be 
so  anxious  ;  we  have  a  long  way  to  walk."  She  rose  as 
she  spoke  ;  but  Sir  Philip  interposed. 

"  I  am  sure  you  cannot  walk  to  Rodham  after  hanging 
in  mid- air  in  that  way.  I  believe  my  steward,  Mr.  Smith, 
has  a  conveyance  of  some  sort,  and  if  you  will  come  with 


70  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

me  to  his  house,  which  I  take  it  is  that  white  one  under 
the  trees,  I  will  endeavour  to  get  it  for  you." 

Irene  hesitated ;  and  then  a  glance  at  Randal's  white 
face  and  quivering  lips  decided  her. 

"  Thank  you,  perhaps  it  will  be  best,"  she  said,  and 
then  added  :  "  It  is  very  odd,  I  think,  that  all  this  time 
I  have  never  thanked  you  for  your  help ;  but  I  do  thank 
you  very  much,  and  so  will  Randal's  mother." 

"  It  was  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  he  said, 
"  for  me  to  come  over  to  your  rescue.  I  had  been  ex- 
ploring the  moor,  and  I  had  only  that  moment  turned 
out  on  the  terrace,  when  the  boy's  legs  attracted  me.  I 
saw  the  whole  thing,  and  saw  your  courage  and  marvel- 
lous calmness.  As  I  looked  up  at  you  in  your  perilous 
position,  I  felt  it  was  a  question  how  long  you  could  hold 
out.  There  seemed  no  possible  foothold  for  the  boy 
— a  brave  little  fellow,  too,  or  he  would  not  have  held 
on  as  he  did — and  not  a  cry  nor  a  scream  from  either  of 
you!" 

"  I  don't  think  great  danger  ever  finds  cries  or  screams 
to  express  it.  All  realities  strike  us  dumb,  and  all 
depths  are  still  and  noiseless." 

"  It  is  not  so  with  all  women."  And  as  he  saw  her 
lip  curl  almost  imperceptibly,  he  added  :  "Nor  with  all 
men  either." 

"  I  am  not  offended  at  the  distinction  you  implied," 
Irene  said  ;  "  you  need  not  have  added  the  saving  clause. 
I  know  very  well  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  the 
credit  we  women  get  for  shallowness  and  want  of 
strength." 

"  There  are  great  and  notable  exceptions,"  he  answered, 
"  as  I  have  seen  to-day.  Here  we  are,  at  Mr.  Smith's  door. 
Come,  my  boy,  I  hope  you  will  soon  be  at  home  now." 


IRENE.  71 

Sir  Philip's  knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  a  neat 
maid- servant,  who  said  Mr.  Smith  was  very  ill,  and  Mrs. 
Smith  was  particularly  engaged. 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  if  1  could  see  Mrs.  Smith  for 
two  minutes.  Take  her  this  card,  and  say  I  will  wait." 

Sir  Philip  handed  his  card  from  hp.s  pocket-book,  on 
which  was  printed,  "  Philip  Dennistoun,  Elm  Court, 
Temple ;"  and  the  little  maid  disappeared  with  it  up 
the  staircase,  which  came  sloping  down  inconveniently 
near  the  front  door.  She  soon  returned  : 

"  Please  to  walk  in,  Sir.  Missis  will  be  down  directly," 
she  said;  "please  to  walk  in  here;"  and  the  maid 
opened  the  door  of  a  sitting-room,  which  looked  out  on 
the  strip  of  garden,  and  had  that  unaired  and  stuffy 
atmosphere  about  it  which  told  the  tale  of  windows  her- 
metically sealed  and  an  unused  best  parlour.  Three  or 
four  chairs  stood  round  a  table  where  bead-mats,  a  photo- 
graph-book, and  a  stand  of  wax  flowers,  reigned  supreme 
and  unmolested.  A  sofa  covered  with  a  gay  chintz,  and 
a  cheffionier  with  glass  doors,  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  room. 

Irene  sat  down,  and  drew  Randal  towards  her. 

"  Oh,  my  arm,  Auntie  ! " 

"  It  is  sprained,  I  am  afraid.     Does  it  hurt  much." 

"  Well,  yes;  and  I  feel  so — so  dizzy  ! " 

"  Lay  him  on  the  sofa,:'  said  Philip  ;  "  the  child  is 
overwrought ;"  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Philip 
lifted  Randal  on  the  sofa,  with  its  spotless  chintz  and 
netted  coverings,  regardless  of  dirty  boots,  regardless  of 
what  Mrs.  Smith  would  say  when  she  came. 

At  last  the  door  opened  with  a  majestic  swing,  and  a 
very  stout  personage  appeared,  who  seemed  inconveniently 
large  in  that  small  room.  Her  stiff  silk  gown  rattled  and 


72  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

rustled,  and  her  smart  cap  had  been  evidently  put  on  in 
great  haste. 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Dennistoun,  if  you  are  a  relative  ox 
the  new  Baronet's,  I  am  proud  to  see  you ;  and  is  this 
your  lady  and  your  little  gentleman  1  Dear,  dear  !  the 
poor  child  is  ill ;  or,  what  is  it  1 " 

"  Mrs.  Smith,"  said  Philip,  anxious  to  correct  a  mis- 
take which,  if  ludicrous,  was  somewhat  embarrassing  ;  "  I 
must  introduce  myself  as  your  near  neighbour  at  Rock- 
deane.  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Smith  is  so  ill.  I  have  come  to 
ask  a  favour " 

"  Lor  bless  me  !  Are  you  Sir  Philip  ?  I  beg  thou- 
sands of  pardons,  and  your  lady's ;  but  then  I  heard  you 
wern't  married.  It  is  your  sister,  of  course.  I  am  that 
stupid  and  daft,  shut  up  with  Smith  as  I  am,  week  after 
week,  that  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Sir  Philip.  Your 
card  mistook  me  :  I  mean,  I  mistook  your  card ;  and 
thought  Elm  Court  was  your  family  place  ;  and " 

In  spite  of  himself,  a  smile  broke  over  Philip's  face ; 
but  oh,  the  impossibility  of  stopping  a  woman's  tongue 
like  Mrs.  Smith's ! 

"  This  little  boy,  Mrs.  Smith,  has  had  a  fall,  and  has 
sprained  his  arm.  I  met  him  and  Miss  Clifford  acci- 
dentally. They  have  a  long  walk  to  Rodham,  and  I 
want  to  know  if  I  can  have  any  conveyance — Mr.  Smith's 
pony  and  gig,  perhaps — I  suppose  he  uses  one  ?  " 

"  He  did  use  one  before  he  was  laid  up,  Sir  Philip ;  but 
it's  a  ramshackle  old  four-wheel,  and  the  grey  mare  is  that 
fat  and  lazy,  you  have  to  whip  her  well  to  make  her  move. 
She  was  borrowed  the  other  day  by  lawyer  Williamson 
to  put  to  the  chariot  when  he  went  to  meet  the  new 
master  ;  but  there,  I  should  not  say  borrowed,  for  all  here 
is  yours,  Sir.  The  thing  is,  the  men  are  gone,  and  I 


IRENE.  73 

don't  believe  there  is  one  about  the  place,  and  who  is  to 
get  the  trap  out  of  the  coach-house  and  put  Misty  into  it  ? 
Poor  Smith  called  her  Misty.  Some  poetical  idea  it  was 
about  the  grey  mists,  or  such  stuff.  I  am  sorry  I  ain't 
in  black,  as,  of  course,  I  ought  to  be  on  this  day ;  but, 
never  out  of  Smith's  room,  what's  the  use  of  dressing  ? 
And  he  is  that  cross-grained,  poor  fellow,  it  is  enough  to 
craze  one." 

As  she  spoke,  a  loud  knocking,  evidently  with  a  stick, 
was  made  on  the  floor  of  the  room  above. 

"  That's  he  :  now  hark  to  him,"  as  the  thumps  were 
reiterated.  "  I  must  go,  if  you'll  please  to  excuse 
it." 

And  as  Mrs.  Smith  was  heard  labouring  up  the 
narrow  stairs  with  heavy  feet,  Sir  Philip  said  :  "  I  will 
take  the  opportunity,  and  look  after  this  four-wheel 
myself,  and  see  if  I  can  prevail  on  Misty  to  rise  to  the 
emergency." 

Mrs.  Smith  was  the  first  to  return,  followed  by  the 
rosy  maid  with  wine  and  cake,  of  which  she  pressed  her 
guests  to  partake. 

"  Smith  was  roaring  like  a  caged  bull,"  his  wife  said, 
"wanting  to  know  who  it  was  talking  to  me  down- 
stairs ;  and  when  he  heard  it  was  Sir  Philip — 
Well  there ! " — and  Mrs.  Smith's  gestures  alone  ex- 
pressed her  feelings  as  to  what  her  husband  had  said — 
"  He  wants  to  see  the  new  baronet,  but  he  can't.  He 
isn't  fit  to  be  seen,  and  it  would  take  me  an  hour  to  put 
him  tidy.  He  screeches  so  if  you  do  but  put  a  finger  on 
his  leg." 

"  What  has  he  done  to  his  leg  ?  "  asked  Randal,  who 
had  revived  under  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Smith's  sweet 
wine  and  exceHent  cake. 


74  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  He  hasn't  done  anything  to  it,  my  dear ;  it's  the 
gout ;  and  if  it  ain't  in  his  leg  it's  in  Ms  arm ;  and  it 
will  kill  him  when  it  gets  to  a  vitally  part." 

"  A  what  ? "  Randal  questioned,  but  Irene  inter- 
posed— 

"  It  is  a  most  trying  complaint,  and  so  hard  to  bear,  I 
know.  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Smith,  to  let  us 
rest" 

And  then  she  told  the  story  of  the  afternoon  to  her 
good-natured  hostess,  who  kept  reproaching  herself  on 
the  mistake  she  had  made  as  to  Sir  Philip's  identity. 

"And  so  awkward  for  you,  Missie,  for  I  see  you  are 
quite  young — too  young  for  the  Baronet — though  stranger 
things  have  happened.  What's  that  Smith  says  about 
'  shadows  cast  afore  ? '  I  don't  know  the  words ;  but  he's 
very  fond  of  his  books,  and  knows  heaps  of  'em  through 
and  through.  Well,  I  never,  here's  Sir  Philip  at  the 
gate,  and  the  shandry — as  we  call  it — if  he  has  not  put 
Misty  in  himself;  and  who's  to  drive  1" 

Irene  wondered  ;  but  she  had  not  much  more  time  for 
speculation,  for  Sir  Philip  came  in  the  next  moment  with 
an  ancient  whip  with  a  horn  handle  in  his  hand,  and 
declared  that  he  was  ready  to  start  for  Rodham.  It 
was  all  done  as  if  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  it ;  and 
it  was  not  till  they  had  bid  Mrs.  Smith  good-bye  ;  not  till 
Irene  and  Randal  were  safely  in  the  back  seat  of  the 
shandry,  and  Philip  had  cracked  the  whip  over  Misty*  s 
broad  back  with  such  effect  that  she  actually  tried  some- 
thing like  a  trot ;  not  till  the  little  maid  had  withdrawn 
from  the  gate,  saying  to  Mrs.  Smith,  "I  never  did,  ma'am, 
you  should  have  seen  how  handy  the  gentleman  was 
harnessing  and  putting  to,"  that  Philip  gave  way  to  the 
absurdity  of  his  position,  and  broke  into  one  of  his  rare 


IRENE.  75 

fits  of  honest  laughter.  It  was  infectious ;  and  Irene 
laughed  too,  and  poor  Randal  made  a  feeble  effort  to  join 
in  the  chorus. 

"  Well,  Miss  Clifford,  here  we  are  fairly  off  for  Rod- 
ham. I  hope  you  give  me  credit  for  my  diversified 
powers  ;  but,  getting  the  horse  to  the  water  is  one  thing, 
and  making  him  drink  quite  another.  Now  then,  Misty, 
wake  up,  and  stir  your  old  legs  a  little  faster  than 
this." 

As,  at  last,  the  four-wheel  shandry  turned  into  the 
high  road  to  Rodham,  a  carriage,  with  a  pair  of  prancing 
horses,  full  of  people,  passed.  A  lady  in  it  turned  and 
looked  back  at  Irene,  waved  her  hand,  a  smile  of  sur- 
prise and  recognition  passing  over  her  face. 

"  Whose  carriage  is  that,"  Philip  asked  ;  "  some  Rod- 
ham celebrities  ]  " 

"It  is  the  Bishop's  carriage.  The  young  lady  was 
Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant,  an  orphan  niece  of  Lady 
Catharine  Weston's,  and  she  lives  with  them  at  Bishop's 
Court." 

"  It  was  a  very  pretty  face.  I  wonder  what  she 
thought  of  you,  Miss  Clifford,  in  this  distinguished  equi- 
page." 

"  I  dare  say  she  did  not  think  about  me  at  all,"  was 
the  answer. 

"  Do  you  know  the  young  lady  1 " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  seen  her  before.  I  can  hardly  be  said 
to  know  her,"  Irene  answered ;  "  but  I  have  met  her 
once  or  twice." 

"  Upon  my  word  here  is  another  carriage,  as  full  as  the 
last.  We  are  in  good  company.  Who  are  these  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  Tilletts'  carriage.  They  are  the  principal 
bankers  in  Rodham." 


76  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"You  don't  know  them?"  Sir  Philip  said,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  past,  and  Mrs.  Tillett  put  up  her  eye-glass 
and  looked  with  a  supercilious  smile,  which  was  not  one 
of  recognition,  however.  "  The  Tilletts  !  "  Sir  Philip 
said ;  "  ah  !  I  remember  the  name  amongst  the  list  of 
people  whom  your  sister  enumerated  yesterday. 

"  Yes,  Mary  gets  rubbed  the  wrong  way  by  the  Tilletts 
of  the  world,  I  can't  think  why." 

"  They  don't  rub  you  the  wrong  way  then  ?  " 

"No." 

He  turned  to  look  at  the  quiet  serene  face  in  the  twi- 
light, and  he  wondered  what  did  rub  her  the  wrong  way, 
or  ruffle  her ;  and  yet  it  was  not  a  tame  unmeaning  face 
at  all.  It  only  looked  like  her  name — Peace  ! 

"  If  I  care  about  people,  if  I  love  them,  and  they 
slight  me,  or,  as  Mary  expresses  it,  snub  me,  I  mind  it 
— it  hurts  me ;  but  if  I  don't  care  about  them,  they  have 
no  power  to  do  so." 

"I  see;"  and  Misty  was  allowed  to  drop  into  a  lazy 
swing,  as  Sir  Philip  leaned  back  in  the  front  seat,  and 
talked. 

"  Another  carriage — a  quiet,  respectable  brougham  this 
time.  Who  are  these  ?  " 

"  Canon  and  Mrs.  Home,"  Irene  answered.  "  I  dare- 
say there  has  been  an  afternoon  party  at  some  country 
house  in  this  direction  ; "  and  Irene  had  to  bow  her  head, 
and  respond  to  Mrs.  Home's  energetic  greeting. 

"  Well,  they  none  of  them  know  who  I  am,"  said  Sir 
Philip.  "  Perhaps  they  will  think  you  have  fallen  into 
bad  hands.  I  can  just  imagine  my  little  sister  Eosie's 
face,  if  she  could  see  me  now.  She  has  built  such  grand 
castles  about  Rockdeane  and  its  glories,  it  would  be  a 
terrible  coming  down  from  her  rose-coloured  height  to 


IRENE.  77 

the  grey  reality  of  this  time-worn  shandry,  the  old  whip 
with  its  horn  handle,  and  Misty's  sober  paces,  and  my 
trotting  myself  out  before  half  Rodham  in  so  ignoble  a 
fashion,  too  !  I  hope  you  and  Rosie  will  be  friends,"  he 
said,  presently.  "  She  will  want  a  companion  here ;  and 
Jasper,  poor  Jasper,  may  learn,  I  hope,  a  lesson  in 
courage  from  that  little  fellow  who  is  forgetting  his 
troubles  in  sleep,  I  see." 

"  Yes,  poor  Randal,  he  has  a  lion's  heart ;  but  he  is 
very  wilful  and  headstrong — so  unlike  Cuthbert." 

"  Is  that  the  lame  boy  I  saw  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  "  and  her  voice  betrayed  that  there  were  depths 
of  tenderness  in  her  heart  when  she  spoke  of  Cuthbert. 
"  Yes,  no  one  can  know  what  Cuthbert  is.  Saintly  in 
his  patience,  heroic  in  his  courage,  a  soul  that  might  have 
done  and  dared  all  for  the  right,  had  he  but  the  bodily 
power  and  strength." 

"  He  is  your  especial  favourite,  I  see." 

"  I  love  all  my  sister's  children  ;  but  I  do  more  than 
love  Cuthbert — I  reverence  him." 

Philip  was  silent.  The  twilight  was  deepening,  and,  as 
they  neared  Rodham,  the  Cathedral  towers  and  the 
castle  battlements  stood  up,  dim  and  mysterious,  in  the 
gathering  shadows.  The  town  itself  was  veiled  with  a 
light,  transparent  mist,  out  of  which  the  principal  objects 
rose,  ghost-like  and  solemn.  Above,  the  sky  was  of  a 
tender  blue,  where  the  stars  were  just  faintly  twinkling, 
and  a  new  moon  hung  suspended  like  a  curved  thread  of 
silver. 

Presently,  Philip  spoke.  "There  is  something  very 
old-world-like  and  quaint  in  Rodham,  I  should  think. 
I  suppose  it  answers  to  the  hackneyed  descriptions  of  all 


78  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Cathedral  towns.  After  my  busy,  migratory  life,  I  feel  as 
if  I  should  find  this  boundary  set  to  my  habitation  irksome. 
I  can't  live  without  something  to  do,  and  I  can  believe 
that  Rodham  is  just  the  place  to  look  coldly  on  all  new 
schemes  and  plans ;  to  repulse  any  effort  I  might  make, 
and  tell  me  to  content  myself  with  a  quiet  country  gentle- 
man's life  at  Rockdeane,  which  would  not  suit  me  at  all. 
However,  we  shall  see.  I  do  hope,"  he  again  repeated, 
"that  Rosie  and  you  will  grow  to  know  each  other  and 
like  each  other.  She  is  about  your  age,  I  imagine — 
eighteen." 

Irene  smiled.  "  I  am  twenty-four — many  years  older ; 
and  I  don't  think ."  She  paused. 

"  You  don't  think  you  would  like  her  1 " 

"  No  ;  though  of  course  I  can't  tell  till  I  see  her  ;  but 
I  was  thinking  it  was  not  very  probable  she  would  like 
me." 

"  She  will  prefer  the  Miss  Tilletts,  and  so  on — I 
can't  remember  any  more  Rodham  names  ;  I  shall  learn 
them  soon  enough.  If  I  know  Rosie,  she  won't." 

Irene  made  no  answer.  Randal  was  sleeping  heavily 
on  her  shoulder,  and  her  arm  was  very  tired  with  holding 
him  in  his  position.  Sir  Philip  had  apparently  resigned 
himself  to  Misty 's  sluggish  pace,  and  showed  no  inclina- 
tion to  hurry  her.  So  they  dragged  slowly  through  the 
streets  ot  Rodham,  passed  the  Cathedral,  and  turned 
towards  Eccleston  Square. 

"Our  drive  is  nearly  at  an  end  now,  Miss  Clifford," 
Sir  Philip  said.  "  Next  time  I  am  charioteer  I  hope  it 
will  be  behind  a  better  steed  than  poor  old  Misty,  and 
that  you  will  have  a  more  luxurious  seat.  You  must  be 
very  tired,  holding  that  heavy  child." 


IRENE.  79 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  tired,"  she  answered,  simply  ;  and, 
as  they  stopped  before  the  door  of  No.  9,  she  exclaimed, 
"  There  is  Forster." 

Mr.  Williamson  was  just  putting  the  key  into  the  latch, 
when,  hearing  the  wheels  stop,  he  looked  round. 

"  You,  Irene,  and  Randal,  and  Sir  Philip  !  " 

"  Even  so,  Mr.  Williamson.  The  Fates  have  decreed 
that  I  should  find  your  son  hanging  to  a  maple  tree,  in 
niid-air,  and  restore  him  to  terra  firma." 

"  Yes,  and  he  has  sprained  his  arm,  Forster.  Take 
care  how  you  lift  him  down,"  said  Irene.  "  Sir  Philip 
saved  his  life." 

Mr.  Williamson  was  carrying  the  boy  up  the  steps  to 
the  house,  and  Irene  was  standing  on  the  pavement,  Sir 
Philip  by  her  side,  the  reins  in  one  hand  ;  the  other  he 
held  out  to  Irene. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "Thank  you  so  very  much  for 
all  you  have  done." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  live  to  do  more  for  you  yet,"  was  the 
answer,  and,  in  another  moment,  Sir  Philip  had  reseated 
himself,  and  Misty  received  so  sharp  a  cut  with  the  whip 
that  she  shook  herself  inquiringly,  and  waddled  out  of 
the  square  rather  more  quickly  than  she  had  come  into  it, 
Irene  followed  her  brother  slowly  upstairs  to  the 
drawing-room ;  she  knew  that  she  should  meet  there  a 
great  storm  of  questions  and  reproofs,  and  a  great  many 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  wonder.  Randal  was  on 
his  mother's  knee  now,  and  she  was  asking  him  about 
his  arm,  and  where  it  hurt  him,  and  how  it  happened  ; 
while  Cuthbert  lay  on  his  couch,  his  large  eyes  dilated 
with  eager  interest,  and  fixed  upon  his  brother. 

"  Really,  Irene,  how  excessively  wrong  it  is  of  you  to 
take  these  madly  long  walks.  You  must  do  everything  in 


80  HEIGHTS  A2O>   VALLEYS. 

extremes ;  you  either  poke  about  in  all  the  dirty  lanes 
and  alleys,  and  run  a  fearful  risk  of  exposing  my  children 
to  infection,  or  you  go  immense  walks,  and  come  home 
late,  and  I  endure  agonies  of  suspense,  and  then  you 
bring  my  boy  at  last  with  a  broken  arm," 

"  Come,  come,  Mary,  there  are  no  bones  broken,"  said 
Mr.  Williamson. 

"And  Aunt  Irene  couldn't  help  it,  mother,"  Randal 
put  in.  "  I  ran  after  the  rabbit,  and  then  I  went  to  get 
the  blackberries,  and " 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  Randal ;  it  is  only  a  fresh 
instance  of  what  I  knew  before,  that  mothers  only  are 
to  be  trusted  with  their  children,  and " 

Irene  had  sat  down  by  Cuthbert's  side,  and  now,  as 
the  little  thin  hand  was  laid  on  hers,  she  took  courage, 
and  said,  "  Mary,  will  you  let  me  tell  you  all  that  has 
happened.  I  am  sorry  we  are  so  late,  and  that  you  have 
been  anxious  ;  but  we  have  been  delayed  by  this  accident, 
and,  though  we  drove  home,  it  was  at  a  very  slow  pace." 

"  Yes,  and  what  a  curious  old  gig  you  were  in.  I  could 
hardly  believe  my  own  eyes,  when  I  saw  it  at  the  door  ; 
but  tell  us  all  about  it,  Irene." 

Irene  told  in  a  few  words  the  history  of  Randal's  fall, 
and  how  she  had  to  hold  him  in  a  perilous  position  till 
Sir  Philip  appeared ;  then  of  Mr.  Smith  and  the  four-wheel 
carriage,  to  which  Sir  Philip  had  harnessed  Misty,  and 
the  slow  drive  home. 

"  Really,  how  very  peculiar.  I  hope  you  met  no  one 
you  knew." 

"  I  am  afraid  we  met  a  great  many  people,"  said  Irene, 
with  an  amused  smile  at  the  recollection  of  the  grand 
carriages  which  had  rolled  past  their  humble 
conveyance. 


IRENE.  8 1 

"  Who  1 "  asked  her  sister  anxiously  j  "  for  though 
they  knew  you,  they  would  not  know  Sir  Philip,  and  what 
must  they  have  thought  1  Who  did  you  meet  ?  " 

"We  saw  the  Bishopstowe  carriage,  Mary,  and  the 
Tilletts',  and  Canon  Home's." 

"  How  dreadfully  unfortunate ;  and  did  you  bow  to  any 
of  the  people  ?  " 

"  Lady  Eugenia  bowed  to  me,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Home  ; 
the  Tilletts  only  looked  at  us,  and  seemed  so  much 
gratified,  that  I  am  quite  glad  they  should  have  the 
pleasure." 

"The  Tilletts  of  all  people — the  others  are  bad 
enough — only  they  might  think  none  the  worse  of  you 
for  being  in  such  a  carriage ;  but  those  intolerable  stuck- 
up  Tilletts  !  Well,  Irene,  I  hope  you  have  had  a  lesson  ! 
Now,  my  dear  Randy,  you  must  come  to  the  nursery,  and 
let  me  see  the  extent  of  your  injury,  and  if  it  will  be 
necessary  to  send  for  Mr.  Bradford." 

"  Nonsense,  Mary,  I  don't  think  the  boy  is  much  amiss  ; 
pray  don't  be  sending  for  a  doctor  without  need,  we  have 
too  many  of  his  visits  already,"  said  her  husband. 

Cuthbert's  small  fingers  tightened  their  grasp  of  Irene's, 
and  she  understood  what  he  meant. 

"  But  they  must  want  their  tea,  Mary,"  Mr.  William- 
son called  after  her,  as  she  left  the  room  with  Randal. 
"  They  have  not  had  anything  but  blackberries  since 
dinner  at  one  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have,"  said  Irene ;  "Mrs.  Smith,  the  bailiff's 
wife,  supplied  us  with  wine  and  cake ;  such  good  cake, 
Cuthbert." 

"  Was  it  ?  I  am  glad  of  that ;  and,  Auntie,  do  you  really 
mean  that  Randal  wanted  to  get  the  blackberries 
for  me  ? " 

G 


82  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  Yes,  Cuthbert,  that  was  in  his  mind ;  but  he  ought  not 
to  have  gone  down  the  path.  I  distinctly  told  him  he 
must  not  go." 

"Poor  Randal,  he  only  forgot;  I  am  certain,  if 
I  could  go  everywhere,  take  long  scampers,  and  gather 
blackberries,  I  should  find  it  very  hard  not  to  forget. 
I  shut  my  eyes,  and  tried  to  see  it  all,  when  you  were 
telling  mother  just  now.  It  was  grand  of  Sir  Philip  to 
come  and  save  Randal,  but  it  was  much,  much  grander 
of  you  to  hold  him  so  long.  I  know  Sir  Philip  thinks 
so,  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  again  soon ;  I  like  him  very 
much,  don't  you  ?  Go  to  tea  now,  Auntie,  I  hear  mother 
calling  you  ;  never  mind,  if  what  she  says  seems  cross, 
for  you  know  it  has  been  a  long  time  to  wait,  and  it  got 
dark,  and  Hilda  went  to  bed,  and  of  course  we  couldn't 
help  wondering  where  you  could  be." 

"  Of  course  not,  dear.  Yes,  Mary,  I  am  coming ; "  and 
with  a  kiss  pressed  upon  the  pale  forehead  of  her  little 
nephew,  Irene  ran  downstairs. 

u  Where  is  Randal  ? 

"  Gone  to  bed,  of  course.  Nurse  thinks  his  arm  is 
seriously  hurt,  and  I  shall  send  for  Mr.  Bradford 
to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Williamson  was  pouring  out  a  cup  of  very  weak 
cold  tea,  as  she  spoke,  and  was  evidently  much  aggrieved. 

"  She  has  some  right  to  be,"  Irene  said  to  herself,  and 
then  aloud,  "  I  am  really  very  sorry,  Mary,  that  I  went 
so  far  this  afternoon  with  Randal,  and  that  you  have 
been  anxious." 

"  Have  been  !  I  am  anxious ;  with  my  eldest  child 
A  hopeless  invalid,  it  is  very  hard  to  think  that  Eandal 
may  never  have  the  use  of  his  arm  again,  ai**  °H  through 
the  most  flagrant " 


IRENE.  83 

"  Disobedience  "  was  on  Irene's  lips,  but  she  forbore. 
After  a  minute's  pause,  Mrs.  Williamson  continued, 

"And  what  did  Sir  Philip  say?  Did  you  find 
him  easy  to  get  on  with  ]  It  was  a  very  awkward 
position  for  you  to  put  yourself  in,  driving  home  with 
a  perfect  stranger,  or  at  least  a  man  you  never  saw  till 
yesterday." 

"  I  did  not  find  it  awkward  ;  it  was  a  great  deal  more 
awkward  to  be  hanging  over  the  steep  rock,  holding 
Kandal's  arm." 

"  You  are  very  silly,  Irene ;  you  never  will  talk  like  a 
reasonable  person.  I  don't  believe  you  feel  in  the  slightest 
degree  how  embarrassing  it  will  be  when  Lady  Eugenia 
asks  you  who  you  were  driving  with  in  that  dreadful  old 
vehicle ;  really,  when  I  saw  it  turn  into  the  square,  I 
could  scarcely  help  laughing,  miserably  anxious  as  I 
was.  And  the  Tilletts,  too,  to  see  you  !  By-the-bye, 
old  Mrs.  Thornycroft,  Mr.  Tillett's  aunt,  aud  those  three 
plain  daughters,  were  here  this  afternoon,  she  was  very  full 
of  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun.  They  were  in  the  same  steamer 
with  him  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  when  the  news  of 
Sir  Jasper's  death  was  made  known  to  him  by  the 
'  Times.'  They  have  been  a  tour,  as  usual,  and  would 
not  have  come  back  so  soon,  Mrs.  Thornycroft  said,  only 
her  husband  telegraphed  that  he  was  very  ill,  and  they 
must  return  immediately.  They  implied  that  the  old  man 
was  not  so  ill  as  he  represented  himself  to  be.  They 
came  here  simply  to  find  out  all  that  could  be  found  out 
about  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun.  Margaret  Thornycroft 
talked  like  an  idiot  about  him,  and  said  she  had  been  so 
struck  with  Sir  Philip's  appearance;  it  is  quite  easy  to  see 
what  she  will  drive  at.  I  know  it  will  be  perfectly  disgust 

G  2 


81  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

ing,  the  set  Rodham  people  -will  make  on  Sir  Philip. 
I  think  I  must  go  to  Randal,  now.  Forster  is  gone  to 
dine  at  Dr.  Simpson's ;  he  asked  him  to-day,  when  they 
returned  from  the  funeral  together.  Old  Dr.  Simpson, 
is  terribly  sly.  I  do  hope  Forster  will  be  cautious. 

"  I  should  think  Forster  is  to  be  trusted,"  said  Irene 
quietly ;  and  then  she  followed  her  sister  upstairs,  and 
went  to  her  own  room  ;  a  small  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  with  two  narrow  windows,  and  no  great  attraction 
about  it. 

But  Irene  liked  the  elevation.  She  liked  to  be  nearer 
the  sky,  and  above  the  square — removed  from  the  noise 
of  the  town.  She  was  very  tired ;  and  it  was  not  till 
she  lay  down  upon  her  bed  that  she  knew  how  tired, 
nor  how  great  the  strain  had  been  upon  her,  for  the  boy 
/nd  she  had  been  face  to  face  with  death.  She  knew  a 
fall  of  sixty  feet  on  the  large  boulders,  which  checked  the 
course  of  the  stream  immediately  below,  and  over  which 
Sir  Philip  had  stepped  so  lightly  and  so  rapidly  when 
he  came  to  their  rescue,  would  have  been  mutilation  if 
not  death.  Then  came  the  thought,  that  no  one  had 
given  any  thanks  for  her  preservation ;  that  none  in  that 
house  had  even  thought  of  her  especial  deliverance ;  all  in- 
terest having  centred  in  the  boy ;  and,  except  from  Cuth- 
bert,  she  had  received  no  tender  word  of  inquiry  or  sym- 
pathy. Once,  she  had  been  everything  to  a  mother, 
between  whom  and  herself  had  existed  a  tie,  half-sisterly, 
half-maternal,  which  only  very  few  women  can  understand. 
It  is  a  tie  which  is  not  frequent ;  but  when  it  exists,  is 
stronger  than  death ;  and  when  severed,  leaves  the  sur- 
vivor very  desolate.  Mary  had  married  early,  and 
she  and  her  husband  had  settled  in  a  town  in  one  of  the 


IRENE.  85 

Midland  counties,  far  from  the  home,  in  a  Devonshire 
village,  where  Irene  and  her  mother  had  been  happy 
for  years. 

Mr.  Balfour,  the  agent  and  man  of  business  of  Sir 
Jasper  Dennistoun,  was  a  relation  of  Forster  Williamson. 
He  had  a  high  opinion  of  his  abilities  and  integrity,  and 
two  years  before  the  time  of  which  I  write,  the  offer  of  a 
partnership  had  been  made  and  accepted ;  and  the  Wil- 
liamsons removed  to  Rodham.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards,  Mrs.  Clifford  caught  a  cold,  which  ended  in 
congestion  of  the  lungs,  and  she  sank  in  a  few  days. 

Irene  was  left  alone  in  the  world,  and  her  brother-in- 
law's  offer  of  a  home  in  his  house  seemed  one  she  ought 
not  to  refuse. 

Cuthbert,  the  lame  boy,  had  been  an  especial  favourite 
of  his  grandmother's,  and  he  had  often  spent  months 
with  her  and  his  aunt  Irene  at  Orchard  Leigh,  before  his 
hip  disease  had  so  completely  laid  him  prostrate.  To 
minister  to  him,  and  brighten  his  suffering  young  life, 
seemed  to  Irene  an  aim  in  the  first  days  of  her  mourn- 
ing ;  and  she  went  to  Rodham  to  fulfil  her  mission,  and 
forget  herself  and  her  sorrow  in  service — that  great 
panacea  for  wounded  hearts,  if  they  would  but  try  to 
take  it.  And  she  was  peaceful  and  content.  Within  her 
lay  a  deep  spring  of  love,  which  was  never  dry.  Hers 
was  a  faithful  unquestioning  soul,  and  it  looked  through 
her  clear  stedfast  eyes  far  beyond  earthly  vexations  and 
perplexities. 

Of  women  like  Irene  it  is  hard  to  write ;  they  are  not 
generally  very  caressing  and  effusive  in  their  manner. 
Sometimes  even  abrupt  and  reserved,  they  do  not  take  a 
prominent  place  amongst  the  "  popular  people  "  of  their 
own  particular  circle.  We  think  we  have  known  them 


86  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEVS. 

for  years,  and  we  find  we  never  knew  them  at  all  Then 
some  sudden  flash  of  tenderness,  some  great  act  of  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice,  some  burst  of  sympathy  in  sorrow,  some 
gleam  of  brightness  which  dazzles  us  with  its  lustre,  and 
they  stand  revealed  before  us.  Alas,  alas !  sometimes, 
in  the  bitterness  of  our  soul,  we  hear  but  the  rustle  of 
the  wings,  as  "  the  angel  of  the  house  "  passes  from  our 
sighi  for  evcr; 


CHAPTER  V. 


GLIMPSES  OF  RODHAM  SOCIETY. 

"  So  I  left  the  place,  and  weary, 
Fainting,  yet  with  hope  sustainedj 
Toiled  through  pathways  long  and  dreary, 
Till  the  mountain-top  was  gained. 
Lo  !  the  height  that  I  had  taken, 

As  so  shining  from  below — 
Was  a  desolate,  forsaken 
Region  of  perpetual  snow." 

A.  A.  PROCTER. 

IN  the  course  of  a  few  months  the  aspect  of  Rockdeane 
was  changed.  If  its  outward  walls  still  frowned  above 
the  babbling  stream,  and  rose  dark  and  grim  amidst  the 
universal  greenness  of  spring,  within  there  was  a  bright- 
ness and  freshness  which  charmed  the  eyes  of  the  many 
guests  who  flocked  thither  to  pay  their  respects  to  Sir 
Philip  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  now  that  they  were  settled 
in  their  new  home. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  received  her  stepson's  orders 
to  superintend  the  decoration  and  beautifying  of 
this  old  home  of  his  ancestors  with  a  glad  heart. 
There  was  only  one  stipulation  made,  which  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  tried  in  vain  to  overrule.  The  tradesmen 
employed  were  to  be  Rodham  tradesmen.  Everything 


88  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

was  to  be  ordered  and  procured  through  them,  and  there 
was  to  be  no  departure  from  this  rule.  But  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun  had  confidence  in  her  own  taste,  and  managed  to 
make  the  Rodham  tradesmen  subservient  to  her  will. 

Undoubtedly  the  interior  arrangements  of  Rockdeane 
were  a  grand  success,  and  no  one  turned  away  from  a  visit 
there  without  acknowledging  it  And  now,  in  the  early 
summer  succeeding  Sir  Philip's  accession  to  the  title,  the 
new  order  of  things  was  established,  and  Rosie  flitted 
hither  and  thither  about  the  old  house  in  all  the  joyous- 
ness  of  her  youth,  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  stepped  into  her 
handsome  carriage  and  drove  into  Rodham  with  the  ease 
of  a  person  to  whom  such  a  luxury  had  been  habitual, 
and  was  not  lately  acquired. 

Jasper  had  his  own  pony,  and  everything  which  be- 
fitted his  position.  His  name  had  been  put  down  for 
Eton,  and  he  was  to  take  his  place  in  a  master's  house 
there  in  September. 

Sir  Philip,  himself,  had  also  fitted  into  the  niche 
appointed  him  with  wonderful  facility.  A  true-hearted 
gentleman  is  never  in  any  danger  of  elation  from 
a  change  in  his  worldly  position.  If,  instead  of  count  - 
ing  a  few  hundreds  as  his  yearly  income,  he  counts 
thousands,  he  bears  it  with  the  grace  and  refined  dignity 
which  would  have  characterized  him  had  the  reverse  of 
the  picture  been  his.  He  is  the  same  in  his  manners  to 
others  when  he  sits  on  a  stool  in  a  dingy  office  in  a 
threadbare  coat,  as  he  is  in  a  lordly  mansion,  raised  high 
in  the  social  scale  by  what  we  call  the  accident  of  rank 
and  fortune.  Such  a  man  is  made  of  too  fine  a  stuff  to 
give  himself  airs  in  the  one  case,  or  to  be  meanspirited 
and  cringing  in  the  other. 

In   Mrs.   Dennistoun   there   was    perceptible  a  little 


GLIMPSES   OF   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  89 

touch  of  elation  which  she  could  not  always  conceal. 
It  was  seen  in  little  condescensions  and  patronizing 
manners  to  the  townspeople  of  Rodham,  and  a  little  too 
much  empressement  towards  the  county  families  amongst 
whom  she  came  to  take  her  place  with  her  son  and 
daughter;  but  in  Philip's  presence  she  was  very  careful 
that  there  should  be  no  display  of  these  small  weak- 
nesses, for  her  stepson's  indignation  was  always  moved 
by  them,  and  he  came  down  upon  Jasper  with  a  pitiless 
severity  when  he  heard  him  indulging  in  big  talk  to  any 
boys  with  whom  he  associated. 

It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  May  when  some  visitors 
were  assembled  on  the  terrace  at  Rockdeane.  A  piece  of 
ground  had  been  turfed  and  prepared  for  croquet  in  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  Jasper  was  setting  up  the  hoops 
for  Rosie,  who  had  proposed  a  game  with  the  juve- 
nile part  of  the  said  visitors,  who  had  arrived  without 
invitation,  but  had  been  warmly  pressed  by  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun  to  stay  to  tea,. 

The  party  consisted  of  the  Bishop's  wife,  and  her  niece, 
Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant,  and  Mrs.  Tillett,  the 
banker's  wife,  her  two  daughters  and  her  son,  a  boy 
about  Jasper's  age. 

Most  of  the  county  families  were  in  London  at  this 
time  of  the  year ;  but  the  Tilletts  did  not  aspire  to 
the  dignity  of  a  house  in  Town,  and  the  quiet  and  gentle 
Lady  Catharine  Weston  preferred  her  own  lovely  home 
in  the  summer  to  the  gaieties  of  the  great  Metropolis ; 
and  as  her  niece  had  not  been  very  strong,  and  the 
doctors  had  desired  that  she  might  be  kept  from  all  over- 
excitement,  and  late  hours  should  be  avoided,  there  was 
no  necessity  for  her  aunt  to  break  through  her  habit  this  • 
year,  and  give  up  the  pleasure  of  her  flowers  in  their  full 


90  HEIGHTS   AXD   VALLEYS. 

prime,  and  the  delights  of  the  country  which  she  so 
thoroughly  enjoyed. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  we  were  at  home,"  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun  was  saying.  "  Rosie  and  I  had  to  get  through 
some  shopping  this  morning,  and  we  felt  disinclined  to 
move  this  afternoon ;  the  Bishop  is  in  London,  I  think." 

"  Yes ;  he  wanted  to  be  in  the  House  to-night  for  the 
debate  ;  but  he  will  be  at  home  again  by  Sunday." 

"  What  a  lovely  girl  your  niece  is,"  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
said. 

"  Yes,  poor  child  !  she  is  very  pretty,"  was  the  reply ; 
"but  I  wish  I  could  see  a  little  more  of  the  spring  and 
elasticity  of  youth  about  her.  I  always  think  the  sorrows 
of  her  family,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  was  born,  have  left 
their  traces  upon  her.  My  poor  brother  died  from  the 
effects  of  an  accident  just  before  Eugenia  was  born,  and 
her  only  sister  soon  after.  Her  mother  was  broken- 
hearted— if  any  woman  ever  was — and  she  did  not  live 
long ;  and  then  the  child  came  to  us.  My  husband  kindly 
allowed  me  to  receive  her,  and  she  is  like  our  own." 

"I  am  sure  she  must  be,"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun; 
"  and  she  is  a  sweet,  attractive  creature." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Tillett ;  "my  girls  are 
devoted  to  her.  May  and  she  have  so  much  in  common. 
Your  daughter  is  pretty,  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  and  so  bright 
and  merry." 

The  three  elder  ladies  were  pacing  the  terrace  now, 
and  at  the  corner,  whence  there  was  a  view  of  the  drive, 
Mrs.  Dennistoun  paused. 

"There  are  more  visitors,  for  here  is  another  car- 
riage." 

Mrs.  Tillett,  who  was  short-sighted,  put  her  glass  to 
her  eye. 


GLIMPSES   OF  RODHAM   SOCIETY.  91 

"It  is  only  a  fly.  Some  of  the  Rodham  people,  I 
think,  Mrs.  Dennistoun.  I  suppose  you  are  besieged  with 
them." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  very  happy  to  receive  their  visits,  I  am 
sure,"  was  the  answer.  "It  is  meant  civilly.  Rosie!" 
her  mother  called,  "  do  you  know  where  Philip  is  ?  Here 
are  some  more  people  arriving.  Do  go  and  see  if  he  is 
in  his  study." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  Rosie  answered  ;  "  but  just  wait  till 
I  have  finished  this  turn." 

In  another  minute  a  servant  appeared,  one  of  the 
footmen,  who  now  assisted  old  Forrest  in  his  labours. 

"  Mrs.  Williamson  and  Miss  Clifford  are  in  the  drawing- 
room,  Ma'am,"  the  man  said,  approaching  his  mistress. 

A  shadow  passed  over  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  face,  but  she 
went  on  with  what  she  was  saying  at  the  moment  to 
Lady  Catharine.  Within,  the  thought  was  passing — "How 
tiresome  and  awkward.  Of  course,  the  Williamsons  do 
not  know  Lady  Catharine,  most  likely  not  Mrs.  Tillett 
either."  Then,  aloud,  she  said,  "  You  must  excuse  me 
for  a  few  minutes.  I  must  go  into  the  drawing-room. 

Will  you  sit  here,  or  " .  But  Mrs.  Dennistoun  had 

not  time  to  finish  her  sentence,  for  from  the  window, 
which  had  been  opened  from  the  small  drawing-room  on 
to  the  terrace,  four  figures  were  seen  advancing — Sir 
Philip,  with  two  ladies  and  a  boy.  Mrs.  Williamson  was 
a  little  disconcerted  by  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Tillett,  but 
recovered  herself;  and,  feeling  she  was  under  good 
escort,  came  on  with  a  smile  towards  Mrs.  Dennistoun. 
Mrs.  Tillett  became  immediately  engrossed  in  a  discussion 
about  a  geranium  which  grew  in  one  of  the  ornamental 
vases  which  now  stood  at  regular  intervals  at  the  edge  of 
the  terrace,  while  Rosie  came  running  up  from  the 


92  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

croquet-ground  to  greet  Irene,  who  was  rather  behind, 
with  Randal. 

"  You  are  just  in  time  for  our  game,"  she  said. 
"  Philip,  will  you  play  too  ?  Then  we  shall  have  such 
much  better  sides." 

"My  dear  Rosie,"  her  mother  interposed,  "Miss 
Clifford  may  not  like  to  detain  her  carriage  for  a  long 
game  of  croquet.  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Clifford  ? "  was 
supplemented  ;  and  then,  "  What  a  fine  little  fellow ;  is 
that  your  nephew  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  mamma,  it  is  Randal,"  Rosie  again 
interposed.  "  Philip  brought  him  up  here  to  play  with 
Jasper  not  long  ago.  I  don't  know  where  Jasper  is  now, 
but  he  is  gone  off  with  Frederick  Tillett.  Do  come,  Philip." 

"  My  dear  Rosie !  "  her  mother  interrupted,  "  you  are 
so  impetuous.  One  would  think  the  fate  of  the  world 
depended  on  this  game  of  croquet.  Will  you  not  sit 
down,  Miss  Clifford  ?  " 

"  Miss  Clifford  will  play  croquet,  I  hope,"  Philip  said, 
turning  from  Lady  Catharine  and  Mrs.  Tillett,  with 
whom  he  had  been  exchanging  a  few  pleasant  words. 
"We  will  leave  Mrs.  Williamson  with  you,  and  betake 
ourselves  to  the  croquet.  As  to  you,  Randal,  you  must 
go  and  look  after  Jasper  and  the  other  boy.  You  will 
most  likely  find  them  in  the  region  of  the  stable-yard. 
Jasper  is  sure  to  be  exhibiting  Zoe  to  his  friend.  Run 
round  the  house,  to  the  left  there,  and  you  will  see  the 
stables.  You  went  with  me  the  last  time  you  were  here ; 
you  know  the  way." 

The  boy  scampered  off,  and  his  mother,  who  had  been 
invited  by  Lady  Catharine  to  take  a  vacant  chair  by  her, 
was  well  satisfied.  She  saw  that  Mrs.  Dennistoun  had 
been  defeated,  and  she  could  endure  Mrs.  Tillett  s  scarcely 


GLIMPSES   OF  RODHAM   SOCIETY.  93 

well-bred  scrutiny  and  silence  while  Lady  Catharine 
was  so  friendly  and  pleasant. 

"Now,  Miss  Clifford,"  Sir  Philip  said,  "we  go  down 
these  steps  to  the  croquet  ground." 

But  Irene  paused.     "  Are  you  going  to  stay,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  as  Mrs.  Dennistoun  kindly  proposes  it. 
We  have  dismissed  the  fly,  you  know,  and  intend  to 
walk  home." 

"  You  need  not  do  that,"  said  Lady  Catharine.  "  I 
shall  be  happy  to  take  you  into  Rodham,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  do  so." 

"Thank  you  so  very  much,"  was  Mrs.  Williamson's 
pleased  reply ;  and  Irene  turned  away  with  Sir  Philip 
without  another  word.  There  was  some  consultation  as 
to  the  sides  at  croquet,  and  on  which  Sir  Philip  should 
be  enlisted.  Mary  and  Helen  Tillett  both  disclaimed  any 
skill  in  the  game,  and  Lady  Eugenia  said  she  could  only 
act  under  direction,  and  hoped  her  side  would  not  depend 
on  her. 

"  Miss  Clifford,  you  have  not  expressed  any  opinion  as 
to  your  powers.  Are  you  a  feeble  or  a  '  strong  hand  '  ?  " 

"I  used  to  play  very  well,  I  believe,"  said  Irene; 
"  but  I  have  not  had  much  practice  this  year." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  Philip  ;  "  but,  like  you,  I  am 
not  at  all  disposed  to  take  such  a  low  view  of  my  own 
powers ;  so,  without  further  discussion,  I  propose  that 
you  take  one  side  and  I  the  other,  and  let  these  young 
ladies  choose  between  us." 

"Most  decidedly  not,"  said  Rosie,  laughing;  "it  is 
you  and  Irene  who  must  choose  us." 

It  was  curious  to  notice  how,  in  the  general  clatter 
and  confusion  of  tongues,  Irene  took  her  mallet,  and 


94  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

quietly  said,  "Miss  Dennistoun  and  Miss  Tillett,  -will 
you  play  oil  my  side  1  " 

Thus  Sir  Philip  was  left  with  Lady  Eugenia  and  the 
younger  Miss  Tillett,  an  arrangement  which  was  evi- 
dently anything  but  agreeable  to  her  sister.  Helen  was, 
however,  so  well  contented,  that  the  game  began  vigor- 
ously, and  was  carried  through  with  much  spirit,  ending 
in  one  of  those  close  contests  which  are  always  the  charm 
of  a  game  of  croquet.  Irene  and  Rosie  were  both  good 
players,  and  their  side  came  off  conquerors,  just  as  a 
servant  came  down  the  flight  of  steps  from  the  terrace  to 
announce  that  Mrs.  Dennistoun  wished  to  know  whether 
Sir  Philip  would  have  tea  brought  down  to  the  ground  or 
whether  he  would  come  up  to  the  terrace. 

"We  will  come  up,  I  think."  And,  seeing  that  Lady 
Eugenia  looked  tired,  he  gave  her  his  arm,  and  said, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  ought  to  have  had  some  refreshment 
before." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  and  looked  up  at  him  with 
a  smile. 

Lady  Eugenia  was  very  fair,  and  her  eyes  were  of  the 
softest  grey,  fringed  with  dark  lashes.  Her  figure 
was  tall,  and  she  stooped  a  little,  which  added  to  the 
general  air  of  delicacy  which  seemed  to  cling  to  her. 
By  Rosie's  bright  and  radiant  girlhood  her  beauty  was 
somewhat  faint,  and  she  had  a  languid  air  about  her 
which  might  either  arise  from  indolence  or  ill-health. 
But  she  was  attractive  with  an  attraction  of  her  own — 
gentle  and  sensitive,  but  by  no  means  wanting  in  in- 
tellectual power.  She  had  read  a  great  deal  more  than 
most  girls  of  her  age,  and  thought  over  what  she  had  read. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  and  Philip  had  met ; 
and  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  found  her  con- 


GLIMPSES  OF   RODHAM  SOCIETY.  95 

versation  pleasant,  when,  after  partaking  of  the  frag- 
rant tea  served  on  the  prettiest  of  afternoon  tea-sets,  and 
supplemented  with  some  beautiful  grapes,  he  strolled  with 
her  into  the  newly-built  greenhouse,  which  had  been 
stocked  with  lovely  geraniums,  and  which  promised  in 
time  to  be  one  of  the  most  brilliant  conservatories  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

"  I  cannot  think  how  you  have  managed  to  get  every- 
thing so  pretty  here  in  so  short  a  time,"  Lady  Eugenia 
was  saying.  "  It  is  like  coming  to  a  castle  in  a  fairy  tale, 
transformed  by  a  magician's  wand." 

"I  can  take  no  credit  for  the  arrangements,"  Sir  Philip 
said ;  "  Mrs.  Dennistoun  has  done  everything  for  me  ; 
and  Rosie,  I  have  no  doubt,  has  had  her  word  in  the 
matter  of  ornament.  Sometimes  I  am  a  little  afraid  that 
old  Rockdeane  has  been  too  much  brightened  to  suit  its 
ancient  character." 

"I  suppose  you  will  stand  for  the  county  if  this  vacancy 
occurs,  which  seems  probable,  if  Mr.  Senhurst  resigns 
from  ill-health  ? " 

"  I  have  not  thought  much  about  it,"  Philip  answei'ed  ; 
"  I  have  had  so  much  to  do  in  winding  up  my  old  life 
and  starting  the  new.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  done 
amongst  the  tenantry,  and  I  want  to  build  them  a  church, 
and  restore  Hildyard's  Alms  Chape1 " 

"  Just  like  the  pattern  hero  in  Miss  Yonge's  stories." 

The  young  voice  had  a  tone  in  it  which  was  not 
pleasant — half  satirical,  and  almost  contemptuous,  as  she 
went  on  :  "I  would  rather  get  a  seat  in  Parliament,  if  I 
were  you,  than  devote  my  energies  to  beautifying  a  musty 
chapel  for  old  men  and  women,  which  does  well  enough 
as  it  is.  I  should  do  such  great  things  if  I  were  in  your 
place :  everything  seems  within  your  reach."  Her  en- 


96  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

thusiasm  had  changed  the  expression  of  her  face,  and  her 
manner  was  no  longer  languid  and  dreamy. 

"  You  would  be  ambitious,"  Philip  responded.  "  You 
are  ambitious,  as  it  is." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  relapsing  into  her  usually 
quiet  and  gentle  manner ;  "I  don't  know  that  I  am. 
I  like  that  little  person  whom  the  Tillett  faction  are  trying 
to  snub  so  unsuccessfully.  It  is  delicious  to  see  how  she 
defeats  them  at  every  turn.  Irene  Clifford — is  not  that 
her  name  ?  By-the-bye,  do  you  remember  when  we 
passed  you  with  her  and  a  little  boy  in  an  antique 
vehicle  last  autumn  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  shortly ;  "I  remember  it  very 
well" 

He  did  remember  it ;  but  a  great  gulf  seemed  to  be 
set  between  that  time  and  this.  In  the  few  months  of 
transition  between  Rockdeane  and  the  London  home,! 
Philip  had  often  been  at  the  Williamsons'.  Hilda  and 
Cuthbert  did  not  look  upon  him  as  a  stranger,  and 
gradually  he  and  Irene  had  slipped  into  the  easy  familiar 
intercourse  of  friends.  Then,  since  the  establishment  at 
Eockdeane  had  been  formed,  and  Sir  Philip  was  abso- 
lutely settled  there  as  its  master,  a  change  had  come. 
Just  one  of  those  imperceptible  changes  which  we  fail  to 
trace  to  their  source,  which  we  cannot  put  into  words, 
but  which  exist,  nevertheless. 

As  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Eugenia  wandered  away  on  this 
particular  afternoon,  Irene's  eyes  followed  them.  Eosie 
had  to  divide  her  attentions  to  her  with  the  Miss  Tilletts, 
and  every  one  knows  that  the  management  of  such  a 
position  requires  some  tact. 

May  and  Helen  Tillett  talked  about  things  and  people 
of  which  they  felt  sure  Irene  knew  nothing,  and  Rosie, 


GLIMPSES    OF    RODHAM    SOCIETY.  97 

who  liked  Irene  as  her  brother  had  prophesied  she  would 
like  her,  felt  the  ill-bred  manners  of  her  guests,  without 
knowing  exactly  how  to  counteract  them.  She  only- 
hoped  that  the  Tilletts  would  go  before  Mrs.  William- 
son did,  and  thus  let  her  have  Irene  to  herself  for  a 
little  while. 

At  last  the  girls  wandered  back  to  the  terrace  again, 
and  Lady  Catharine  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  We  have  a  long  drive  home,  and  I  think  we  ought  to 
be  starting.  When  will  you  come  out  to  Bishop's  Court, 
Mrs.  Dennistoun  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come.  I  don't  think  we  have 
any  engagements  this  week,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Will  you  come  to-morrow,  as  the  weather  is  so  fine, 
and  bring  your  son  and  daughter  with  you  ?  Ah  !  here 
are  Sir  Philip  and  Genie  at  last.  Come,  my  dear,  we 
must  order  the  carriage ;  and  we  are  to  take  you, 
Mrs.  Williamson,  and  your  little  boy,  and  Miss  Clifford." 

"  Where  are  the  boys  ]  "  Rosie  said.  "  I  wonder  they 
did  not  return  to  tea." 

"  I  told  Forrest  to  take  care  of  them,"  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
said ;  "  they  went  to  have  a  little  cricket  practice  in  the 
west  park.  Forrest  was  to  let  them  have  some  lemonade 
and  cake  in  the  summer-house,  if  they  liked  it  better  than 
tea.  Ah  !  here  is  Randal." 

"  Well,  Randal,  what  is  the  matter  1 "  Rosie  exclaimed. 

Randal's  cheeks  were  very  red,  and  he  came  slowly 
onwards  to  the  place  where  Irene  stood. 

"  Have  you  had  your  tea  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  nothing,"  said  Randal  shortly ;  "  and  I 
don't  want  anything." 

"  Hush,  Randal,"  interposed  his  mother ;  "  don't  speak 
in  that  way." 

H 


98  HEIGHTS   A3TD   VALLEYS. 

"  Not  had  any  tea  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dennistoun  ; 
"  how  could  that  be  1  " 

"  They  did  not  ask  me,"  said  Eandal  again ;  "  I  did  not 
play  with  them  either,  and  I  did  not  want  to." 

"  Oh  !  if  you  are  a  naughty  boy,"  said  his  mother, 
"  I  cannot  speak  to  you  ;  I  am  quite  shocked." 

The  announcement  of  Lady  Catharine's  carriage  was 
quite  a  relief,  and  Eosie  walked  with  Irene  and  Randal 
round  the  house  to  the  entrance- door. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  seen  so  little  of  you  this  afternoon," 
Rosie  was  saying ;  "do  come  and  spend  a  day  with  me 
soon.  To-morrow,  I  heard  mamma  say,  she  would  go  to 
Bishop's  Court ;  but  on  Saturday,  will  you  come  1  A  real 
long  day  I  mean,  not  a  fictitious  one,  beginning  with 
afternoon  tea ;  although  this  afternoon  has  been  long 
enough,  if  it  did  not  begin  till  four  o'clock,"  Rosie 
added  ;  "  and  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  dreadfully  dull 
for  you.  Philip  is  so  engrossed  with  Lady  Eugenia  ;  and 
I  have  had  to  be  engrossed,  whether  I  liked  it  or  not, 
with  the  Tilletts.  You  don't  know  them." 

"  They  don't  know  me,"  said  Irene  with  a  low  mu- 
sical laugh.  "  Have  you  never  heard  that  Mrs.  Tillett 
professes  to  know  no  one  in  Rodham,  except  the 
Cathedral  clergy,  and  her  husband's  aunt,  old  Mrs. 
Thornycroft." 

"  What  nonsense  ;  when  bankers  could  not  make  their 
money  without  the  town,  and  they  are  indebted  to  all  the 
shopkeepers  in  the  place  for  carrying  their  savings  to 
them." 

"  That  does  not  matter ;  the  Tilletts  have  a  country 
house,  or  a  house  out  of  Rodham,  and  so  have  the 
Robinsons  and  the  Blacks,  and  that  matters  a  great 
deal." 


GLIMPSES   OP  RODHAM   SOCIETY.  99 

"  "Well,  you  will  come  on  Saturday  1  "  were  Rosie's  last 
words  ;  and  then  Irene  took  her  seat  opposite  her  sister, 
in  the  Bishop's  carriage,  while  Randal  sat  between  her 
and  Lady  Eugenia,  with  whom  Sir  Philip  seemed  to  have 
a  great  many  parting  words  to  exchange. 

"Do  you  like  Lady  Eugenia  better  than  you  used 
to  do,  Philip?-"  Rosie  asked,  as  they  rejoined  the 
Tilletts. 

"  Like  her,  yes  ;  I  admire  her  too !  Moreover,  she  is 
rather  easier  to  talk  to  than  most  young  ladies." 

"  So  it  seems,"  said  Rosie  playfully  ;  "  well,  I  suppose 
there  must  be  a  Lady  Dennistoun  some  day,  and  if  a 
Christian  name  comes  in  euphoniously  it  may  as  well  be 
Eugenia  as  any  other." 

"  Don't  distract  your  little  brain  about  that,  Rosie ; 
leave  the  subject  to  older  heads  to  settle.  But  how  long 
are  these  eternal  illetts  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Percy  is  gone  to  call  the  boys.  Jasper  and  Frederick 
Jillett  have  been  playing  cricket  in  the  west  park." 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  that ;  I  would  have  gone  to  look 
them  up." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  the  old  butler, 
approaching  Sir  Philip,  as  Rosie  went  in  to  the  drawing- 
room  ;  "  but  I  feel  it  is  my  duty  to  speak  to  you  con- 
cerning the  young  gentlemen." 

"  What  young  gentlemen,  Forrest  ]  '' 

"  Mr.  Jasper,  Sir,  and  Mr.  Tillett.  They  have  behaved 
scandalous,  Sir,  and  unbecoming  their  position,  to 
Master  Williamson,  this  afternoon." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 "  asked  Philip,  again. 

"  Well,  Sir  Philip,  it  ain't  to  be  supposed  that  Percy  or 
James  would  be  over  nice  in  their  language  ;  but  Percy 
came  to  me,  and,  says  he,  that  young  gentleman  is  having 


100  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

a  time  of  it  down  there,  Mr.  Forrest,  Lawyer  Williamson's 
son  I  mean,  and  as  fine  a  boy  of  nine  as  you  may  see. 
They  would  not  so  much  as  speak  to  him,  and  when  he 
tried  to  join  the  game,  they  called  him  names.  I'd 
be  ashamed  to  hear  from  the  lowest  of  the  low  such 
bad  words,  Sir  Philip.  The  poor  little  fellow  held  up 
as  brave  as  a  lion  ;  but  when  he  took  a  glass  of  lemonade, 
Master  Tillett  pinched  his  arm — not  for  fun  you  know — 
but  in  a  nasty  sneering  way,  and  when  he  turned  to  leave 
them,  they  shouted  after  him  that  he  was  a  sneak,  and 
had  better  go  and  tell  his  mammy." 

"  Call  Percy  here,"  Sir  Philip  said,  in  a  voice  so  stern 
that  old  Forrest  felt  he  had  roused  the  lion  in  his  master. 

Percy  substantiated  what  Forrest  had  said  ;  and  the 
story  was  even  worse.  Then,  as  the  two  boys  were  seen 
coming  across  the  park  to  give  a  tardy  answer  to 
the  summons  sent  for  them  again  and  again,  from  the 
cricket  field,  Philip  shouted,  "  Jasper." 

Jasper  turned  ;  "  Hallo  !  what's  the  row  1 "  Then  his 
brother  repeated  the  call,  "  Jasper." 

Jasper  turned,  and  shrugged  his  shoulder  at  his 
companion,  and  came  to  a  dead  halt. 

"Will  you  come  here,  sir,"  Philip  repeated,  "and 
bring  your  friend  with  you." 

Both  boys  now  came,  seeing  Philip  was  in  earnest ;  and 
though  Jasper  muttered,  "Bother  it,"  and  Frederick 
Tillett  whispered,  "  What  does  he  want  ]  "  they  followed 
Philip  across  the  wide  hall  to  the  study  ;  the  same  where 
old  Sir  Jasper  had  sat  for  so  many  years,  where  the  huge 
old  black  cabinet  containing  his  papers  and  letters  still 
stood,  and  where  Philip  had  thought  over  the  probable 
details  of  that  lonely  life  on  the  first  night  of  his  arrival 
in  Rockdeaue. 


GLIMPSES   OP   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  101 

"Jasper,"  Sir  Philip  said,  facing  the  boys  when  he 
entered  the  room,  "  shut  the  door.  I  have  heard  from 
Forrest  and  another  of  my  servants  that  you  have  thought 
fit  to  disgrace  me  this  afternoon  by  the  way  you  have 
treated  a  boy  who  was  a  guest  of  mine,  and  to  whom  you 
owed  courtesy " 

" Little  sneak  ! "  Jasper  managed  to  put  in  ;  "he  de- 
serves to  be  thrashed." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Sir  Philip  ;  "  I  think  your 
deserts,  and  your  friend's  also,  rather  lie  in  that  direction. 
The  manly  little  fellow  made  no  complaint ;  but  I  hear 
that  your  conduct  was  so  disgraceful,  and  the  language 
you  used  so  detestable,  that  even  one  of  the  servants  re- 
monstrated with  you.  I  brought  you  here  before  your 
friend  to  say  this,  that  he  also  might  know  how  hard  I 
find  it  to  overlook  an  offence  like  this.  With  Mr.  Fre- 
derick Tillett  I  have  no  concern,  except  to  beg  that,  if 
he  honours  me  with  his  presence  here  again,  he  will  be- 
have as  a  gentleman  should.  "With  you,  Jasper,  I  am 
concerned,  and  intimately  concerned,  too.  You  bear  my 
name,  and  I  do  not  intend  you  to  disgrace  it  if  I  can 
help  it.  You  must  go  to  your  own  room  for  the  rest  of 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  you  will,  if  you  please,  walk  down 
into  Rodham,  and  apologise  to  Randal  Williamson  for  your 
conduct.  If  your  friend  has  any  feeling  of  a  gentleman 
about  him,  he  will  do  the  same." 

"Little  snob  !  I  am  sure  I  shan't,"  said  Frederick 
Tillett ;  "  who  cares  about  the  Williamsons  ?  My  father 
and  mother  don't  visit  them." 

"  I  am  not  asking  you  to  enlighten  me  as  to  your 
father  and  mother's  visiting  list,  sir,  nor  do  I  wish  to 
continue  this  conversation  with  you.  Jasper,  will  you 
obey  me  at  once,  and  go  to  your  room  1 " 


102  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

Jasper  was  pale  with  anger ;  but,  from  long  expe- 
rience, he  knew  Philip  meant  what  he  said.  He  turned 
sullenly  away,  and  Sir  Philip  strode  out  of  the  room. 

"  My  dear  boy,  how  long  you  have  kept  us  waiting  !  " 
was  Mrs.  Tillett's  greeting  to  her  son.  "  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
must  be  quite  tired  of  us." 

"And  where  is  Jasper?  What  have  you  done  with 
Jasper?"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  asked,  anxiously. 

"  He  has  had  a  row  with  Sir  Philip,  I  believe,"  was 
the  answer.  "  I  am  going  to  drive  you  home,  mamma." 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  certainly  not,"  was  the  maternal 
reply  ;  b\it  it  only  fell  upon  the  wind. 

Master  Frederick  mounted  the  box,  and  left  the  inside 
of  the  carriage  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  while  he  snatched 
the  reins  from  the  coachman,  and  drove  off  at  a  swift  pace. 

"What  was  all  the  fuss  about,  with  Sir  Philip  and 
Jasper  Dennistoun  1 "  asked  Mrs.  Tillett,  when  she  had 
resigned  herself  to  her  son's  self-willed  determination. 
"  I  hope  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  Oh,  no ;  only  some  shindy  about  that  little  snob, 
young  Williamson." 

"Oh,  was  that  all?  But  the  Dennistouns  make  a 
great  deal  of  them  ;  they  are  new  yet  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  will  find  out  that  it  does  not  do  to  ask  people 
to  meet  who  do  not  visit  each  other.  It  is  excessively 
awkward." 

"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  did  not  ask  us  to  meet  the  Wil- 
liamsons nor  Lady  Catharine  either,  mamma,"  said  May 
Tillett ;  "  she  could  not  help  our  all  fixing  on  the  same 
afternoon  to  go  out  to  Rockdeane." 

"  No,"  said  Helen ;  "  and  really,  mamma,  Lady  Ca- 
tharine seems  very  fond  of  the  Williamsons,  too." 

"  Oh,    you  know,   officially  the  Bishop   is   obliged  to 


GLIMPSES   OF  RODHAM   SOCIETY.  103 

know  Mr.  Williamson ;  he  transacts  some  of  the  law 
business  of  the  diocese,  as  Mr.  Balfour  did  before  him." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Helen  Tillett  again,  "that  little 
Miss  Clifford  had  hopes  at  one  time  of  being  Lady  Den- 
nistoun  ;  so  Margaret  Thorny  croft  said." 

"  These  hopes  were  sufficiently  crushed  to-day,  I  should 
think,"  said  her  sister.  "Not  that  I  believe  Sir  Philip 
really  means  anything  by  his  attentions  to  Lady  Eugenia." 

Mrs.  Tillett,  who  was  lying  back  in  her  carriage,  and 
smiling  with  the  air  of  conscious  superiority  as  it  rolled 
past  the  foot-passengers  in  the  High-street  on  its  way  to 
her  country  residence,  said  emphatically,  "  'No,  I  do  not 
think  he  does.  Sir  Philip  is  not  a  man  to  marry  at  all ; 
he  is  no  longer  young ;  considerably  over  thirty,  I  should 
think;  but  the  Peerage  will  soon  enlighten  us  about 
his  age.  Freddie,  my  dear  boy,  do  give  the  reins  into 
Thomas's  hands  ;  we  shall  very  likely  meet  your  father 
when  we  turn  into  the  Rose  Mount  road." 

And,  moved  to  obedience  by  the  thought  of  what  his 
father  might  say  or  do,  if  he  saw  him  driving  that  pair  of 
handsome  spirited  bays,  Master  Frederick  Tillett  con- 
sented to  let  Thomas  resume  their  management,  as  the 
pointed  gables  of  the  country-house  of  which  Mrs.  Tillett 
was  so  proud  came  in  sight. 

The  Bishop's  carriage  stopped  before  the  Williamsons' 
house  in  Eccleston  Square  about  seven  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Williamson  was  in  good  spirits,  and  tripped 
lightly  upstairs  to  the  drawing-room,  saying, — 

"  We  have  had  such  a  delightful  afternoon  at  Rock- 
deane.  Well,  dear  Cuthbert,  how  are  you ;  and  where 
is  Hilda  1" 

"  Hilda  is  gone  out  with  father.  It  was  such  a  fine 
evening,  nurse  said  she  might.  We  had  our  tea  at  six 


104  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

o'clock.  Papa  thought  you  would  not  be  home  until 
late.  But  did  you  walk  all  the  way,  Auntie,  are  you  tired  ?" 

Irene  had  seated  herself  by  Cuthbert's  couch,  and  laid 
her  head  against  his  pillow.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat ; 
and  a  certain  weariness  about  her  struck  the  child.  He 
was  ever  quick  to  discern  a'shadow  of  a  cloud  in  Irene. 

"  Did  you  walk  all  the  way  home,  Auntie  1 " 

"  No,  dear ;  Lady  Catharine  Weston  brought  us  in  her 
carriage." 

"  Oh  !  what  fun  for  Eandal.  Where  is  he  1  Did  he 
drive  on  the  box  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  his  mother ;  "  that  was  not  at 
all  likely.  But  it  has  really  been  a  great  treat  for  us 
all ;  and  I  can't  imagine  what  has  made  you  so  dull  and 
silent,  Irene." 

"I  have  not  been  at  all  dull,"  said  Irene.  "The 
country  on  a  day  like  this  is  quite  enough  pleasure  in 
itself  to  me." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  very  silent  then.  If  you  were 
annoyed  at  Sir  Philip  devoting  himself  to  Lady  Eugenia, 
you  know  it  is  your  own  fault ;  I  warned  you  again  and 
again  that  he  would  get  tired  of  your  cold  manner." 

Irene's  usually  serene,  untroubled  eyes,  flashed  as  she 
looked  up  at  her  sister. 

"  Mary,  I  cannot  think  what  you  mean,  and  I  beg  you 
will  not  speak  to  me  like  that  again ;  nor  can  I  under- 
stand why — " 

She  stopped.  Her  tone  was  an  angry  one  ;  and  Irene 
acknowledged  to  herself  that  by  showing  the  irritation 
she  was  injuring  her  own  cause. 

"You  do  understand  me  perfectly,"  her  sister  con- 
tinued ;  "you  know  what  I  mean  ;  and  I  repeat,  I  think 
you  have  been  very  provoking,  and  very  foolish  too." 


GLIMPSES   OF   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  105 

Cuthberfc's  large  eyes — so  like  his  aunt's — were  raised 
pleadingly  to  his  mother,  but  Irene's  were  cast  down 
now  ;  and  when — as  her  sister  left  the  room — she  looked 
at  Cuthbert,  they  were  dim  with  tears. 

"  I  am  getting  so  silly,  Cuthbert,"  she  said  ;  "  and  worse, 
naughty,  too." 

"No,  never  that,"  said  the  child,  eagerly.  "But, 
Auntie,  I  don't  think  you  are  well.  You  ought  to  have 
my  port  wine,  and  jellies,  and  things,  and  get  up  your 
strength,  as  Dr.  Simpson  says." 

Irene  kissed  the  little  thin  caressing  hand  she  held  in 
hers,  and  said, — 

"  Shall  you  and  I  go  to  Orchard  Leigh  together  this 
summer  1  I  want  to  go  and  see  all  the  dear  old  places 
again — and  grandmamma's  grave.  If  your  papa  and 
mamma  go  to  Switzerland,  I  think  it  would  be  so  nice 
if  you  and  I,  and  nurse  and  Randal,  and  Hilda  could  go 
to  Devonshire." 

"  Oh,  beautiful !  Jollier  than  anything  ;  only  I  am  so 
lame,  and  I  should  be  such  a  trouble  to  get  about  at  the 
station  ;  and  it  is  a  long,  long  way." 

"  Well,  it  is  only  a  dream  of  mine,"  said  Irene  ;  "  we 
must  ask  Papa,  and  we  must  see  if  we  can  afford  it. 
Here  they  come." 

And  Mr.  Williamson  appeared  at  the  door  with  Hilda, 
who  was  full  of  delight  at  the  honour  of  a  walk  alone 
with  her  father,  and  who  looked  like  a  little  fairy  in  her 
pretty  white  hat  with  its  wreath  of  daisies,  and  her  short 
white  frock  with  its  blue  sash. 

"  Well ;  you  came  back  in  grand  style  from  Rockdeane,  I 
hear,"  was  Mr.  Williamson's  exclamation.  "  But  Randal 
seems  in  low  spirits.  I  found  him  munching  bread  and 
butter  in  the  dining-room,  and  I  can't  get  a  word  out  of  him." 


106  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  He  missed  his  tea,  somehow,"  Irene  said.  "  Some- 
thing went  wrong  with  him  and  Jasper  I  think ;  and 
that  very  objectionable  boy,  Frederick  Tillett,  was  there." 

"  Those  poor  Tilletts,"  said  Mr.  Williamson,  laughing ; 
"  they  get  no  mercy  in  this  house  !  How  was  it  Randal 
was  starved  in  that  land  of  plenty,  at  Rockdeane  ?  " 

"I  think  I  will  go  and  look  after  him,"  said  Irene,  "if 
you  will  stay  here ;  and  I  can  take  Hilda  to  nurse." 

Hilda  resisted ;  but  a  second  "  Come,  Hilda,"  from 
Irene,  made  her  obedient  at  once. 

When  Irene  got  to  the  nursery,  she  found  Randal 
there.  He  was  leaning  over  the  bars  of  the  window,  and 
kicking  his  "  knickerbockered  legs  "  against  the  window 
seat. 

"  Randal,  why  did  you  get  no  tea  at  Rockdeane  ? " 

"  There  was  lemonade,  and  wine,  and  cake,  and — what 
do  you  call  it — claret  cup,  which  Jasper  ordered,  not  tea 
at  all !" 

"  Well,  you  might  have  had  some,  of  whatever  it  was  ; 
and  yet  you  say  you  are  hungry." 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Randal,  shortly.  "  I'll  never  go  to 
Rockdeane  again,  I  know.  I  hate  that  Jasper.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  was  as  old  as  I  am  big,  and  wouldn't  I  pitch 
into  him  ! " 

"  Why,  Randal,  what  can  he  have  said  ?  " 

"  Horrid  boy  !  But  I  am  not  a  sneak  and  a  snob,  as 
he  says  I  arn  ;  and  I  shan't  tell  tales,  Auntie  " — and  the 
handsome,  honest  face  turned  full  on  Irene.  "  I  beliere 
Jasper  Dennistoun  and  that  other  boy  are  as  bad  as  they 
can  be  ;  and  Sir  Philip  never  cares." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  care,  if  he  knew  anything  was 
wrong." 

"  He  does  know ;  for  Percy  and  James,  the  footmen,  said 


GLIMPSES   OP   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  107 

they  would  tell  him,  for  the  words  were  so there,  I 

shall  be  telling  you  all  if  I  go  on,  so  I  will  shut  up  ;  only, 
Auntie,  I  am  sure  Sir  Philip  is  not  so  nice  as  he  xised  to 
be.  Don't  you  remember  how  often  he  came  here  before 
they  all  lived  at  Eockdeane  ;  and  how  we  went  walks  with 
him ;  and  how  he  let  me  ride  his  horse  one  day ;  and 
that  afternoon — an  age  ago — when  he  saved  me  from 
falling  into  the  river.  He  is  not  one  bit  like  the  same 
man." 

Irene  did  not  answer  at  once.  Something  in  her  heart 
«choed  the  boy's  words,  "  He  is  not  one  bit  the  same." 
Perhaps  she  was  not  the  same,  either.  The  foolish, 
not  to  say  sinful,  bantering  of  silly  tongues  had  done  its 
work.  Her  sister  had  repeated  to  her  the  gossip 
which  reached  her  and  pleased  her,  that  Irene  was  Sir 
Philip's  attraction  in  Mr.  Williamson's  house ;  that  it 
was  said  in  Rodham  that  he  paid  her  great  attention, 
and  that,  if  she  chose,  she  might  soon  be  Lady  Dennis- 
toun. 

Then  Mary's  delight  was  so  unbounded  at  the  bare 
idea,  that  she  was  more  than  ever  anxious  to  pay  Sir 
Philip  court;  and  she  kept  a  sharp  look-out  upon  Irene, 
that  she  should  dress  becomingly,  and  always  be  free  from 
any  of  her  engagements  with  the  poor  when  Sir  Philip 
was  likely  to  come. 

At  first,  after  a  long  season  of  barrenness  in  her  life — 
after  many  months  passed  without  an  exchange  of  thought 
and  feeling  with  those  with  whom  she  lived,  Irene 
had  given  herself  up  to  enjoy,  in  her  single-hearted, 
earnest  way,  Sir  Philip's  friendship.  All  his  stories 
of  Alpine  feats  and  Alpine  life  in  his  many  autumn 
wanderings,  were  eagerly  listened  to.  All  his  rough  but 
bold  sketches  in  numerous  little  oblong  books  were 


108  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

entered  into  and  appreciated.  Humorous  portraits  of  fellow- 
travellers  in  all  kinds  of  odd  positions,  interiors  of  chalets, 
decks  of  steamboats,  were  all  represented  in  a  bold, 
masterly  manner ;  and  many  a  pleasant  hour  had  thus 
passed,  which  had  lightened  little  Cuthbert's  burden  of 
pain  and  helplessness  as  he  turned  over  page  after 
page  of  these  little  sketch-books,  which  showed  that 
Philip's  vein  of  the  ludicrous  was  at  least  as  strong  as  his 
appreciation  of  the  grand  and  th.3  beautiful. 

But  this  pleasant  condition  of  things  could  not  last.  One 
afternoon,  after  many  hints  and  foolish  jests  had  made 
Irene  sufficiently  uncomfortable,  she  was  watching  Cuth- 
bert's enjoyment  of  one  of  Sir  Philip's  sketch-books,  as 
she  sat  by  him  at  work,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
Margaret  Thornycroft  and  her  sister  were  announced. 

Irene  rose  to  greet  them,  and,  as  she  did  so,  another  of 
the  sketch-books  fell  from  her  lap.  It  was  one  which 
instinctively  she  felt  Margaret  must  not  see  ;  for  there 
were  several  clever  little  groups,  which  were  too  decided 
portraits  to  be  mistaken,  and  under  which  had  been 
written,  "  Hen  and  Chickens,"  in  Philip's  peculiar  hand- 
writing, which  leaned  from  right  to  left,  and  when  once 
seen  could  not  be  forgotten.  The  book  opened  as  it  fell ; 
and  a  bold  mountain  scene,  touched  with  colour,  lay 
uppermost. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  that  ?  How  lovely.  I  am  sure  it  is 
Zermatt.  Do  let  me  look.  Is  that  your  sketch  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Irene,  finding  it  in  vain  to  attempt  to 
parry  the  question ;  and  she  held  the  book  for  Margaret  to 
see. 

"That  is  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun's  writing,  I  am 
certain,"  exclaimed  her  sister,  trying  to  turn  over  another 
leaf. 


GLIMPSES   OF   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  109 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  Margaret  said;  "let  me  look  through 
the  book,  please." 

But  Irene  closed  it,  and  tied  the  strings  which  fastened 
it. 

"I  dare  say  Sir  Philip  will  show  you  some  of  his 
sketches  himself  one  day ;  he  has  a  great  many  larger 
and  more  finished  ones  than  these.  These  are  what  he 
calls  his  scribbles,  and  I  think  I  had  better  not  exhibit 
them." 

The  two  Miss  Thornycrofts  looked  at  each  other. 
"  Oh,  really,  how  very  intimate  you  must  be ;  but  I  shall 
meet  Sir  Philip  to-night  at  a  dinner  party  at  my 
cousin's,  Edward  Tillett's,  and  I  shall  ask  him  to  favour 
me  with  a  sight  of  his  sketch-books.  I  shall  tell  him  you 
seem  to  think  you  have  an  especial  right  to  the  book — 
perhaps  you  have  1 " 

"Sir  Philip  kindly  lent  them  to  us  for  Cuthbert's 
amusement,  and " 

"  Oh,"  said  Margaret,  with  a  disagreeable  laugh,  "  I 
did  not  know  a  child  would  care  for  sketches  of  mountains 
and  glaciers." 

"  There  are  a  great  many  other  things  besides  moun- 
tains— there  are  pictures  of  people,"  Cuthbert  began, 
"  and  funny  verses,  and " 

A  serious  look  from  his  aunt  stopped  Cuthbert  from 
saying  any  more  ;  and  for  that  time  the  danger  was  over, 
and  the  conversation  took  another  turn. 

But  from  that  afternoon  Irene's  unconstrained  inter- 
course with  Sir  Philip  ceased. 

Was  it  not  possible  that  these  silly  rumours  had  reached 
Sir  Philip's  ear  also  1  Nay  ;  might  it  not  be  also  possible 
that  he  thought,  with  the  rest  of  the  Rodham  world, 
that  she  had  entered  into  her  sister's  schemes,  and  that  she 


110  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

was  not  unwilling  to  let  it  be  as  that  foolish  world  de- 
creed ?  If  ever  her  spirit  was  ruffled,  and  her  indignation 
roused,  it  was  now.  Burning  colour  came  into  her  face 
at  the  very  thought ;  and  it  was  only  after  a  strong  battle 
with  herself  that  she  determined  to  do  her  best  to  stop 
such  gossip  for  the  future,  and  to  let  Sir  Philip  see  that 
she,  at  least,  was  not  concerned  in  it. 

But,  like  countless  other  women,  Irene  had  by  this  very 
effort  learned  more  of  her  own  heart  than  she  had  known 
before.  Like  many  another  woman,  she  found  that  she 
was  turning  her  face  away  from  a  dream  of  sweetness  and 
pleasantness  to  a  very  stern  and  hard  reality.  But 
Irene's  soul  was  strong  to  suffer  and  to  endure ;  and,  when 
once  her  mind  was  made  up,  there  was  no  drawing  back. 

Sir  Philip  saw  the  change,  but  was  very  far  from 
reading  its  cause.  What  he  had  thought  of  her  in  the  old 
chapel  of  the  Hildyards,  when  the  September  sunshine 
made  a  glory  round  her  head,  as  it  brightened  the  tablet 
erected  by  Dame  Editha  Dennistoun  to  the  memory  of 
her  husband,  so  he  would  ever  feel ;  she  was  something 
unlike  and  apart  from  the  Tilletts,  and  the  Thornycrofts, 
and  the  Le  Marchants  of  the  world  ;  a  woman  who  bore 
about  with  her  the  atmosphere  of  a  higher  and  a  nobler 
life,  whose  aims  and  hopes  were  not  centred  on  the 
gaieties  and  follies  of  the  little  circle  in  which  she  moved  ; 
whose  soul  rose  above  the  petty  jealousies  and  envies  and 
rivalries  of  others  of  her  sex  and  age.  Sir  Philip  felt  that, 
with  all  his  aspirations  after  greatness  and  nobility,  with 
all  his  high  standard  of  right  to  which  he  reached  forward, 
he  had  not  so  firmly  grasped  what  Irene  held  fast — the 
Faith  which  endures,  as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible,  and 
that  in  His  Light  she  saw  light,  and  in  His  Strength  she 
was  strong. 


GLIMPSES   OP   RODHAM   SOCIETY.  Ill 

By  an  insensible  influence,  lie  had  felt  drawn  by  her 
towards  the  same  goal.  Kindred  sympathies  and  kindred 
tastes  seemed  to  bring  him  nearer  to  Irene  every  time  he 
saw  her,  and  then  a  change  came — the  change  I  have 
described, — and  Sir  Philip  drifted  away,  as  a  man  will 
sometimes  drift,  turning  regretful  glances  backwards 
perhaps,  but  fancying  that  the  brook  of  separation  grew 
wider  every  day  ;  he  ceased,  or  imagined  he  ceased,  even 
to  wish  to  bridge  it  over,  and  turned  his  thoughts  to 
another  point  of  interest  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the 


CHAPTER  VI. 


IN  THE  CHAPEL. 


"  They  bring  thee  feelings  towards  the  once  beloved, 

Unmixed  with  aught  that  earth  had  shed  to  taint  them, 
And  charms  pourtrayed  more  bright  than  here  they  proved, 
E'en  when  love's  self  might  paint  them." 

The  Gifts  of  the  Dead.—LoKD  KINLOCK. 


JASPER  DENKISTOUN  knew  it  was  useless  to  contest  the 
point  of  submission  with  his  brother ;  and  the  next 
morning  found  him  pulling  up  his  pony  at  the  door  of 
Mr.  Williamson's  house,  in  Eccleston  Square,  and  Sir 
Philip,  who  was  mounted  on  a  small  black  horse,  took  the 
rein  from  his  hand,  saying — 

"  I  will  hold  the  pony  ;  you  had  better  go  in  alone." 
Jasper  hesitated.  It  was  humiliating  to  have  to 
confess  he  was  afraid  to  face  a  little  boy  of  nine  years 
old — he,  the  heir  of  Rockdeane — he,  the  Eton  fellow  in 
prospective,  who  was  in  all  ways  so  superior  to  the  son  of 
his  brother's  man  of  business.  Jasper  still  lingered,  his 
hand  on  the  bell ;  when,  fortunately  for  him,  the  door 
opened,  and  Randal  and  Irene  came  out  together. 

Jasper,  who  had  been  drawing  a  picture  in  his  own 
mind  of  the  horror  of  being  ushered  into  a  room  with 
the  whole  family  assembled,  to  make  his  apology  before 


IN   THE  CHAPEL.  113 

many  witnesses,  hailed  this  sudden  appearance  of  Randal's 
as  a  relief.  He  blurted  out  forthwith,  in  a  very 
undignified  way,  the  prescribed  formula  of,  "  I  came  to 
apologize  to  you  for  what  happened  yesterday  ;  and  I  hope 
you  will  forget  what  was  said,  and  shake  hands  with 
me." 

"  All  right,"  said  Randal ;  a  rosy  flush  coining  to  his 
handsome  face,  contrasting  it  more  than  ever  with  Jasper's 
pale  and  colourless  cheeks.  "It  is  all  over  now ;  and 
I  am  sure  I  will  shake  hands  with  you ; "  and  Randal's 
strong  muscular  fingers  gave  Jasper's  limp  delicate  ones 
a  hearty  shake. 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Philip  had  dismounted ;  and  Mrs. 
Williamson  was  attracted  to  the  door  to  see  what  was 
going  on. 

"  I  have  a  note  for  you  from  my  sister,"  Philip  said, 
addressing  Irene;  "she  wants  to  make  a  little 
alteration  in  the  plan  she  proposed  yesterday,  I  believe. 
Now,  while  you  write  an  answer,  I  will  take  Randal 
a  ride ;  and  return  for  Jasper.  Would  you  like 
it,  my  boy,  and  will  you  trust  him  to  me,  Mrs. 
Williamson  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes  ;  with  you  I  am  sure  he  will  be  safe.  Only 
a  very  quiet  ride,  please,  Sir  Philip ;  just  round  the  Castle 
Green,  or  up  the  Rose  Mount  road ;  not  through  the 
streets." 

"  I  will  take  care  of  him.  Now  then,  Randal ;  lend 
him  your  whip,  Jasper." 

Jasper  complied  ;  and  added,  "  You  must  shorten  the 
stirrups,  Philip  ;  he  is  not  so  tall  as  I  am." 

"  There  is  not  much  difference,"  said  Philip ;  "neither 
you  nor  I  are  such  giants  as  Randal  seems  likely 
to  be." 

I 


114  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"Take  care,  Randal,"  his  mother  called  out,  as  the 
child  looked  at  her  for  admiration  ;  "  be  very  steady." 

"Yes,  Mamma;  good-bye,  Auntie." 

Irene  smiled,  and  kissed  her  hand,  as  Sir  Philip  rode 
slowly  away  with  the  boy. 

"  Let  me  see  the  note,  Irene,"  her  sister  said  ;  "  what 
is  the  plan  Miss  Dennistoun  proposes  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Williamson  looked  over  Irene's  shoulder  at 
the  open  note. 

"  Yes  !  of  course,  she  can  come  to  luncheon  on  Sunday, 
and,  of  course,  you  will  go  to  Rockdeane ;  it  will  be  so 
nice  for  you.  You  must  go,  Irene." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Irene  said,  doubtfully. 

"  What  nonsense,  Irene ;  come  in  and  write  directly, 
and  say,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see  Miss  Dennistoun, 
and  that  you  will  go.  You  are  the  oddest  girl." 

"  You  seem  very  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me  for  a  week," 
Irene  said.  "  Won't  you  come  in  ?  "  she  added,  turning 
to  Jasper  ;  but  Jasper  said  to  himself,  "  That  would  be 
very  slow  ;  "  and,  resuming  his  grandest  air  now  Sir  Philip 
was  gone,  he  said  "  he  would  go  to  a  shop  in  Castle  Street, 
where  he  wanted  something,  and  return  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Irene  turned  into  the  dining-room,  with  her  note,  for  a 
moment,  and  then  ran  upstairs.  It  was  her  habit  to  tell 
Cuthbert  everything ;  and  she  had  Rosie's  note  in  her 
hand. 

"  What  is  all  the  talking  about  downstairs  ?  Did  I  not 
hear  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun 's  voice  ?  " 

"  Yes.  dear  ;  he  brought  Jasper  to  apologize  for  some- 
thing which  happened  at  Rockdeane  yesterday ;  and 
now  Sir  Philip  has  taken  Randal  a  ride  on  Jasper's 
pony." 


IN   THE  CHAPEL.  115 

"  He  never  comes  up  to  see  me  now,"  said  Cuthbert, 
fretfully.  "  He  might  have  come  to-day." 

"He  could  not,  darling.  There  were  the  horses  to 
take  care  of,  as  he  had  no  groom  with  them.  But,  look 
here,  Cuthbert ;  I  told  you  I  was  to  go  on  Saturday,  and 
spend  the  day  with  Miss  Dennistoun.  Now  she  wants 
me  to  go  after  service  on  Sunday,  and  stay  for  a  week  ; 
but  I  don't  think  I  want  to  go ;  it  will  be  so  long  to 
leave  you  ;  and " 

"Oh  !  never  mind  me,  Auntie,"  the  child  said,  with  a 
great  effort ;  "  it  will  do  you  lots  of  good.  Didn't  I  tell 
you,  yesterday,  you  wanted  things  to  make  you  strong ; 
and  you  love  the  country,  and  you  can  be  nice  and  quiet 
there,  and  have  time  to  write  your  new  story,  and  have 
ever  so  much  to  read  to  me  when  you  come  back." 

"  Well ;  I  will  go  for  a  few  days.  As  to  my  story, 
Cuthbert,  it  is  nearly  finished  ;  and  if  I  get  the  money  I 
expect  for  it,  you  and  I  can  go  to  Orchard  Leigh  in 
August,  and  have  the  quiet  little  house  there  I  have  set 
my  mind  upon." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  splendid  !  But  make  haste  and 
write  the  note,  Auntie." 

Irene  went  to  the  table,  and  wrote  her  answer — only  a 
few  lines — in  her  clear,  decided  hand.  Her  sister,  who 
was  getting  anxious  about  the  delay,  came  into  the  room 
just  as  the  note  was  finished. 

"  That  is  a  very  cold  acceptance,  Irene,  of  such  a  kind 
invitation ;  and  say  more  about  our  being  glad  to  see 
Miss  Dennistoun  ;  and  I  think,  also,  you  might  end  with 
something  a  little  stronger  than  '  Yours  sincerely.'  ' 

Irene  laughed.  She  did  not  of  ten  laugh;  but  when  she  did, 
it  was  always  a  sound  that  every  one  wanted  to  hear  again. 

"  Oh  !  Mary ;  as  if  anything  could  be  stronger.  If  we 
i  2 


116  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

are  sincerely  what  we  profess  to  be  to  people,  what  can 
be  better  ]  I  never  indulge  in  'verys'  and  'mosts,'  and 
/  I  abhor  strokes  of  the  pen  to  emphasize  an  adjective." 

"I  think,  Irene, "said  Mrs.  Williamson,  really  annoyed 
now,  "  that,  if  you  do  not  take  care,  you  will  become  very 
eccentric,  and  like  an  old  maid.  I  contend  that  Rosie 
Dennistoun's  is  a  very  nice  and  kind  note,  and  your  reply 
is  very  ungracious." 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you  about  the  reply,  though  I  do 
entirely  agree  with  you  about  the  invitation.  But  I  hear 
the  horses'  feet,  and  I  must  address  my  envelope.  Please 
take  it  down  to  Sir  Philip,  Mary." 

"Don't  you  intend  to  take  it  yourself?  You  had 
much  better." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  it  to  you,  if  you  don't  mind 
the  trouble." 

"  Auntie,"  Cuthbert  said,  as  his  mother  hastened  from 
the  drawing-room  ;  "  would  you  mind  helping  me  to  the 
window  to  look  at  Randal  1  " 

"  Won't  it  be  too  much  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  ;  please  let  me,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly,  trying  to 
get  his  crutch  from  behind  the  couch;  "do  let  me." 

Irene  hastened  to  comply ;  and,  with  her  arm  sup- 
porting one  side,  and  his  crutch  on  the  other,  Cuthbert 
reached  the  centre  of  the  three  drawing-room  windows. 
It  was  open ;  and  he  said, 

"  Let  me  go  on  the  balcony,  Auntie ;  I  can't  see." 

The  large  window  easily  allowed  both  to  pass  out,  and 
Cuthbert  had  his  desire.  Randal  had  not  yet  dismounted ; 
and  sat  with  pride  upon  the  graceful  pony,  stroking  the 
arched  neck,  and  telling  his  mother  he  had  had  the 
j  oiliest  ride. 

"He  has  a  famous  seat,  too,"  Sir  Philip  said;  "we 


IN   THE   CHAPEL.  117 

must  repeat  the  ride  soon,  old  fellow.  And  here  comes 
Jasper,  lounging  up  the  Square ;  pray  where  have  you 
been  1 " 

"  Oh !  looking  about  in  Castle  Street  for  a  light 
billiard  cue.  Rosie  wants  one." 

"  I  told  her  I  would  see  to  that.  Now,  then,  we  must 
go  on ;  as  I  have  to  ride  round  by  the  Moor,  and  we 
shall  not  have'  too  much  time." 

In  another  minute  Randal  had  jumped  off  Zoe,  and 
Jasper  took  his  place.  Sir  Philip  put  Irene's  note  into  his 
pocket ;  and,  lifting  his  hat,  bid  Mrs.  Williamson  good-bye. 

Leaning  over  the  balcony,  Irene  and  Cuthbert  watched 
the  two  brothers,  unseen,  as  they  believed ;  but,  from 
one  of  those  curious  and  sudden  impulses  which  we  all  of 
us  have  felt  attract  us  to  look  at  those,  who  unobserved 
are  looking  at  us,  Sir  Philip  glanced  up  at  the  house  as 
he  rode  away.  Something  inexpressibly  pathetic  there 
was  in  the  expression  of  the  lame  boy's  face — a  wistful 
craving  for  the  energy  and  activity  which  he  might  never 
know.  Something,  too,  touching  and  beautiful  in  the 
tender  support  which  Irene  gave  him — her  arm  around 
him,  his  head  on  a  level  with  her  shoulder,  against  which 
she  pressed  her  cheek.  The  likeness  between  the  two 
faces,  which  Sir  Philip  had  noticed  on  the  first  day  he 
had  seen  Irene  and  Cuthbert  together,  struck  him  now 
more  forcibly  than  ever  it  had  done  before.  He  bowed, 
and  smiled ;  but  there  was  no  smile  on  either  of  those 
watching  faces.  In  the  eyes  of  both  there  was  a  strange 
wistful  yearning,  which  Sir  Philip  could  not  forget.  He 
looked  back  as  his  horse  turned  out  of  the  Square,  and 
the  two  figures  still  remained  immovable.  He  knew  not 
why,  but  they  seemed  to  be  photographed  on  his  mind  ; 
and  he  and  Jasper  rode  silently  towards  Rockdeane. 


118  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

A  hot  tear  dropping  on  the  hand  "which  was  round 
Cuthbert,  made  Irene  start  from  her  reverie. 

"  Come  in  now,  dear."   - 

"  Oh,  Auntie !  Never,  never,  never  to  ride  like 
Randal !  Never  to  be  strong,  and  like  a  boy  !  Auntie," 
he  added,  passionately,  "  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  say 
never  about  anything  ?  " 

"Yes,  Cuthbert,  I  think  I  do,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  as  she  helped  him  to  his  couch,  laid  him  tenderly 
down,  and  took  her  place  by  him.  "But,  Cuthbert, 
never  can  only  make  our  hearts  ache  about  this  world  ; 
there  is  no  sadness  in  '  never '  when  we  think  of  the 
other  world.  It  is  a  joyful  sound  there — never  to  sin, 
never  to  suffer,  never  to  feel  anything  but  love." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  the  child  sighed ;  "  but  now  is  so  real  and 
true,  and  then  seems  so  dreamlike  and  far  off." 

"  I  know  it,  my  darling,  I  know  it ;  but  the  then  and 
the  now  are  only  parts  of  God's  great  whole — all  one 
thing.  This  life  is  the  same  life  we  shall  lead  in  Heaven  ; 
only  there  we  shall  be  free  from  sin  and  these  mortal 
bodies,  NEVER  to  be  bound  again." 

Poor  little  Cuthbert — he  is  not  the  only  one  who  has 
found  it  hard  to  lose  the  pressure  and  the  sadness  of  now 
in  the  freedom  and  the  joy  of  then  ;  for  our  flesh  is  weak, 
and  will  assert  itself.  The  land  that  is  very  far  off  looks 
faint  and  dim  ;  we  cannot  hear  the  voice  of  the  King,  nor 
discern  His  beauty.  Only  through  paths  of  much 
suffering  and  much  weariness,  ever  and  anon  the  shadows 
here  do  present  themselves  as  shadows,  and  the  sub- 
stance stands  revealed,  as  the  faithful  eye  catches  a 
glimpse  of  the  battlements  of  the  City  which  hath  foun- 
dations, and  knows  that  there,  all  sorrow  and  sighing  shall 
fiee  away  for  ever. 


IN   THE   CHAPEL.  119 

Rosie  Dennistoun  came  on  Sunday;  and,  after  luncheon, 
asked  Irene  if  she  might  go  with  her  to  the  Almshouse 
Chapel  instead  of  the  Cathedral. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  go  to  the  Cathedral  with 
you,  Miss  Dennistoun,  and  I  often  take  the  children 
there  in  the  afternoon,"  Mrs.  Williamson  said :  "but " 

"I  thought  you  would  stay  and  read  to  Cuthbert, 
Mary,"  Irene  interposed  ;  "  I  think  he  expects  it." 

"  Oh  !  Please  do  not  put  out  any  arrangements  for 
me,"  Rosie  said.  "  If  I  may  take  Randal  and  Hilda 
with  me  to  the  Almshouse  Chapel,  I  should  like  it  very 
much.  It  is  the  Sunday  for  afternoon  service  there,  is  it 
not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Irene  answered ;  "  but  I  am  not  going  to  the 
service.  I  have  several  old  people  to  see  who  cannot  get 
out ;  and  Mrs.  Bolton  sent  me  a  message  this  morning 
that  she  wanted  to  speak  to  me." 

"  Pray,  Irene,  do  not  let  that  fretful  old  lady  engross 
you  too  much.  Let  her  wait  till  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Bolton 
is  a  veritable  Mrs.  Gummidge,  Miss  Dennistoun,  and 
Irene  acts  the  part  of  the  patient  Pegotty." 

Rosie  laughed,  but  Irene  only  said  :  "  The  children 
will  be  very  good,  I  know,  if  you  will  take  them.  It  is 
time  we  went  to  dress." 

Mrs.  Williamson  gave  the  word  of  command  at  last ; 
and  Randal  and  Hilda  rushed  upstairs  to  get  ready. 

Mr.  Williamson  was  not  at  home ;  and  his  wife  and 
Rosie  were  left  at  the  luncheon-table  together.  This  time 
every  necessary  preparation  had  been  made  for  the 
Sunday  guest,  and  no  table  could  be  more  tastefully 
appointed  than  Mrs.  Williamson's. 

"  Irene  is  so  odd,"  her  sister  said,  when  Irene  had  lefb 
the  room.  "  She  has  the  calmest  way  of  ignoring  what  I 


120  HEIGHTS   AND  VALLEYS. 

say.  There  is  not  the  least  necessity  for  her  to  go  to  those 
old  women  this  afternoon.  I  really  feel  scrupulous 
at  the  idea  of  your  being  troubled  with  Bandal  and 
Hilda." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  like  to  have  them  ;  they  ai*e  such  nice, 
bright,  little  things.  Hilda  is  a  perfect  beauty." 

"I  am  a  good  deal  tied  with  my  poor  lame  boy,"  Mrs. 
Williamson  continued ;  her  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure 
at  the  compliment  to  her  children  ;  "  and,  as  nurse  will 
be  out  this  afternoon,  I  believe  he  would  be  melancholy 
if  I  left  him." 

"  Oh  !  I  would  not  have  you  leave  him  for  the  world 
on  my  account.  He  is  a  very  sweet-looking  child.  Is  he 
older  than  Eandal  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  Randal  is  scarcely  ten,  and  poor  dear 
Cuthbert  is  nearly  thirteen.  He  is  our  eldest  child." 

By  this  time  Irene  and  the  children  returned;  and 
Rosie,  saying  to  Irene,  "  I  hope  my  bonnet  is  straight ; 
I  felt  too  idle  to  go  and  inspect  myself  in  the  glass,  and 
must  trust  to  you,"  turned  to  bid  Mrs.  Williamson 
good-bye. 

"  But  you  will  come  back  to  tea,  I  hope  1  " 

"  I  think  not ;  thanks.  Mamma  said  she  would  call  for 
me  after  the  Cathedral  service;  and,  as  it  is  Sunday, 
we  dine  earlier,  and  must  get  home  in  good  time.  I 
suppose  you  have  made  your  little  preparations,  Miss 
Clifford  1" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  are  not  very  extensive ;  and  now,  please, 
we  must  start,  or  you  will  be  late  for  the  service." 

Irene  left  Randal  and  Hilda  to  escort  Rosie  to  the  seat 
they  usually  occupied  in  the  Chapel,  and  went  her  usual 
rounds  amongst  the  poor  people. 

Mattie  Gillett's  cottage  had  new  tenants — a  hale,  old 


IN   THE   CHAPEL.  121 

man  and  his  wife,  who  were  toddling  off  to  the  Chapel  as 
Irene  passed  the  door. 

Old  Joe  had  removed  into  a  smaller  house,  and  was  now 
engaged  in  pulling  the  rope  in  the  little  vestibule,  which 
set  a  rusty  cracked  bell  in  motion  at  irregular  intervals 
in  spasmodic  jerks. 

Irene  found  several  sick  and  infirm,  to  whom  she  read 
parts  of  the  service,  and  then  she  went  to  the  Warden's 
house. 

There  her  welcome  was  always  a  loving  one ;  but  to-day, 
as  the  gentle  old  lady  stretched  out  her  arms  to  her,  she 
burst  into  teal's. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear  child,"  she  faltered ;  "I  had  such 
a  trying  package  from  New  Zealand  yesterday.  It  is 
about  that  I  want  to  tell  you.  All  my  poor  boy's  letters 
and  papers,  and  some  of  his  clothes — there  is  not  much 
beside  j  but  oh  !  Irene,  it  has  been  so  like  the  opening  of 
the  wound  afresh,  to  see  some  of  the  relics  of  happier 
days.  His  partner  seems  a  kind,  well  disposed  man ; 
though,  as  you  know,  he  suffered  much  from  my  poor 
John's  fault.  He  it  was  who  sent  us  the  first  tidings  and 
particulars  of  his  death,  and  it  is  in  answer  to  my  letter 
that  he  has  sent  off  this  package.  After  the  expenses  of 
the  funeral  were  paid  there  was  no  money  left,  but  I  am 
so  thankful  to  have  these  things.  Get  that  desk,  Irene, 
please — it  is  one  I  gave  him ;  here  is  the  key,  and  I  should 
like  to  show  you  something  in  it." 

Irene  expected  to  see  another  photograph  of  Mrs.  Bol- 
ton's  son ;  and  almost  dreaded  to  be  obliged  again  to  look 
at  that  disagreeable  and  repulsive  face.  But  when  she 
had  put  the  desk  on  the  small  table  by  Mrs.  Bolton's 
side,  and  she  began  to  turn  over  all  the  papers  with  her 


122  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

thin  trembling  fingers  ;  it  was  a  small  pocket-book  that 
she  opened. 

"  Look ,  dear;  this  is  a  sort  of  irregular  diary  my  poor 
boy  kept  during  the  last  year  of  his  life,  the  year  during 
•which  we  had  no  tidings  of  him.  You  know  his  father 
would  not  answer  his  last  application  for  money ;  and  he 
was  angry,  and  wrote  to  me  no  more." 

A  convulsive  sob  seemed  to  thrill  through  the  frame 
of  the  mother,  who  mourned  for  her  only  child  as  mothers 
will  mourn — not  in  proportion  to  their  attractions  in  the 
eyes  of  others  ;  no,  nor  even  in  proportion  to  their  good- 
ness, and  dutiful  behaviour  towards  themselves,  but 
simply  with  the  mourning  of  Rachel  of  old,  whose  chil- 
dren were  not,  and  whose  soul  refused  comfort. 

"  I  did  not  show  James  this  diary,"  Mrs.  Bolton  con- 
tinued ;  "  what  he  says  may  mean  nothing,  but  I  think 
it  is  a  little  curious." 

Mrs.  Bolton  pointed  with  her  finger  to  a  page  of  the 
pocket-book,  and  said,  "  Read  it,  dear." 

"  Recovered  to-day  fifty  pounds  of  the  debt  from  Mrs. 
Cleveland,  of  New  Cross  farm.  I  made  over  some  land 
to  her  son  before  his  death,  and  he  never  paid  me. 
The  boy,  her  grandson,  seems  to  be  made  of  better  stuff ; 
and  now  that  he  is  old  enough  to  judge  for  himself,  has 
insisted  on  having  some  of  his  father's  debts  paid. 
N.B. — There  is  a  rumour  in  Canterbury,  that  old  Mrs. 
Cleveland  is  in  reality  the  wife  of  an  English  gentleman, 
and  that  she  came  out  here  with  her  son  nearly  five-and- 
forty  years  ago.  It  is  certain  she  had  a  handsome 
allowance  paid  regularly  to  her  from  some  source  in 
England." 

Then  came  another  entry,  a  few  days  later  : — 


Itf   THE   CHAPEL.  123 

"  The  boy,  who  calls  himself  Jasper  Cleveland,  has  been 
here  with  another  remittance.  He  is  a  puny  scrap  of  a 
fellow,  and  lives  in  the  greatest  retirement  with  his  old 
grandmother.  I  have  only  seen  her  once.  She  looks  as 
if  she  had  a  temper ;  fierce  black  eyes,  that  glare 
at  one  unpleasantly ;  but  there  is  something  rather 
superior  about  the  old  girl." 

Irene  paused ;  wondering  much  why  Mrs.  Bolton 
wished  her  to  read  this,  and  what  there  was  in  it  which 
could  possibly  affect  her. 

"  There  is  some  more  on  the  other  side  of  the  page ; 
turn  over,  Irene." 

Irene  did  so,  and  she  read — 

"  This  last  detestable  speculation  will  ruin  me,  if  I 
don't  get  some  help  soon.  I  have  been  out  to  old  Mrs. 
Cleveland,  to  try  and  suck  a  little  out  of  her.  I 
would  not  face  her  again;  but  she  let  out  that  her 
grandson  would  be  somebody  grand  one  day,  and  said 
I  should  be  glad  to  humble  myself  to  him.  A  queer 
idea  has  got  into  my  head,  that  this  boy  has  something 
to  do  with  old  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun,  of  Rockdeane, 
for  I  saw  him  sign  his  name,  'Jasper  D.  Cleveland.' 
I'll  ask  my  mother  if  she  has  any  clue  to  it,  next 
time  I  write." 

Irene  stopped,  but  Mrs.  Bolton  scarcely  noticed  it ; 
after  all,  the  mystery  about  Jasper  Cleveland  was  second 
in  interest  to  those  last  words,  "  next  time  I  write." 

"  He  never  wrote  again,"  she  murmured.  "  His  father 
refused  the  money,  and  he  never  wrote  again." 

Irene  did  not  speak  for  some  time ;  then  she  quietly 
closed  the  book,  and  replaced  it  in  the  desk. 

"  I  think  if  I  were  yo  u,  Mrs.  Bolton,  I  should  not 
say  anything  about  this,"  she  said.  "  After  all,  it  is 


124  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

mere  conjecture;  the  letter  D  may  stand  for  another 
name,  and  Jasper  is  not  such  a  very  uncommon  one. 
If  there  is — I  mean,  if  this  young  man  has  anything 
to  do  with  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun,  one  day  it  will  be 
known." 

"  Then  you  think  you  would  not  mention  this  to  Sir 
Philip?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  Irene  said  eagerly — "  nor  to  Mr.  Bolton." 

For  she  knew  the  little  Warden  was  a  sieve ;  and  that 
the  possibility  of  this  boy  in  Canterbury,  New  Zealand, 
having  some  connexion  with  the  Dennistouns,  of  Rock- 
deane,  would  soon  be  discussed  in  Rodham,  if  he  were  let 
into  the  secret. 

"  Very  well,  my  dear;  it  is  perhaps  better  to  be  silent. 
I  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  tell  some  one ;  and, 
besides,  I  tell  you  everything,  my  kind,  dear  little  sympa- 
thiser. Then  I  thought,  as  you  had  known  more  of  the 
Dennistouns  than  most  people  here — and  Mr.  William- 
son is  the  family  lawyer — it  woiild  interest  you  par- 
ticularly. But  I  daresay  there  is  nothing  in  it,  and  it  is 
better  to  be  silent." 

While  Mrs.  Bolton  was  speaking,  Irene  was  replacing 
the  desk  in  the  corner  from  which  she  had  taken  it ;  and 
it  took  her  some  time  to  arrange  the  books  and  papers 
which  had  been  piled  upon  it.  When,  at  length,  she 
returned  to  her  seat  by  Mrs.  Bolton's  sofa,  her  face  was 
very  grave,  almost  sad.  The  old  lady  laid  her  hand 
caressingly  in  Irene's,  and  said — 

"  Read  to  me  now,  my  dear ;  and  sing  some  hymns 
afterwards." 

Very  soon  Irene's  sweet  voice  was  reading  the 
Lessons  and  the  Psalms,  and  then  the  Collects  for  the 
Evening  Service. 


IN   THE  CHAPEL.  125 

Mrs.  Bolton  was  always  strengthened  and  refreshed  by 
this  little  ministry  of  love,  in  which  Irene  never  failed 
week  by  week ;  and  she  had  just  finished,  when  the 
Warden's  voice  was  heard,  and  he  soon  bustled  into  the 
room,  followed  by  Eosie  Dennistoun  and  the  children. 

"  Here,  my  dear,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  brought  you  a 
visitor,  Miss  Dennistoun.  She  has  been  to  pur  little 
service  in  the  chapel,  and  is  very  much  pleased  with  it. 
Can  you  not  order  some  tea,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Eosie ;  "  but  we  cannot 
stay  very  long,  for  we  expect  my  mother  to  call  for  us 
in  Eccleston  Square  on  her  way  from  church.  I  am 
going  to  carry  off  Irene  to  Eockdeane  for  a  week." 

"  A  week  !  "  Mrs.  Bolton  exclaimed.  "  Then,  shall  I 
not  see  you  next  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Irene  said  ;  "and  before  then.  I  shall  be 
home  again  on  Wednesday." 

"Indeed,  you  will  not,"  said  Eosie.  "When  I  get 
you  at  Eockdeane,  I  shall  keep  you ." 

"Well,  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  do  her  good,"  said 
Mrs.  Bolton ;  "  only  there  are  a  great  many  old  folks 
who  scarcely  know  how  to  get  on  without  her  in 
Eodham." 

"  But  they  must  learn  to  do  so,  my  dear,"  said  the  little 
Warden,  who  had  gone  to  the  cheffoniere  and  taken  out 
a  tin  of  biscuits,  which  he  offered  to  Eandal  and  Hilda ; 
"they  must  learn.  Now,  little  people,  help  yourselves. 
Well,  if  you  are  in  haste,  I  will  walk  with  you  young 
ladies  as  far  as  Eccleston  Square.  I  like  a  breath 
of  air  and  a  little  exercise  after  service ;  and  I  have 
promised  to  read  prayers  for  my  friend  Jackson,  this 
evening." 


126  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

After  a  little  more  talk  with  Mrs.  Bolton,  Rosie 
said  good-bye,  and  the  whole  party  left  the  room 
together. 

Mrs.  Bolton  lay  down  on  her  pillow  exhausted,  for  any 
unwonted  stir  and  bustle  was  too  much  for  her.  She 
closed  her  eyes  ;  and  her  thoughts  went  back  into  the 
past.  Her  son's  letters  and  papers  seemed  to  have  opened 
many  memories  which  had  apparently  been  shut  for  ever. 
She  went  over  the  days  when  her  husband  was  first 
Warden  of  the  Almshouses  and  Vicar  of  St.  Magdalene, 
and  of  their  coming  to  Rodham,  when  her  boy  was  young, 
and  went  to  and  fro  to  the  Grammar  School  every  day, 
with  his  book-satchel  over  his  shoulder,  and  his  face 
bright  and  unclouded  by  sin.  Over  the  many  changes  of 
these  six  and  twenty  years  her  thoughts  travelled,  and  the 
number  of  old  pensioners  whom  she  had  seen  pass 
away,  and  carried  out  under  the  archway  to  their  last 
resting-place  in  St.  Magdalene's  Churchyard.  The  oldest 
had  been  the  last.  Mattie  Gillett  had  died  in  September, 
and,  through  the  long  winter  which  had  succeeded,  no 
one  else  had  followed  her.  Several  now  lay  feebly 
breathing  out  their  lives,  and  would  never  "  get  up  May 
Hill,"  the  Nurse  of  the  Almshouses  said;  but  Matties 
had  been  the  last  funeral,  a  few  days  after  Sir  Jasper 
Dennistoun's. 

With  thoughts  of  old  Mattie  Gillett  came  a  curious 
feeling,  that  the  name  which  her  son  had  mentioned  in 
his  Diary  was  connected  with  her  ;  that  she  had  seen  it 
somewhere,  or  heard  of  it,  as  in  some  way  associated  with 
her — how,  she  could  not  recal.  That  some  story,  vague 
and  indistinct,  floated  amongst  the  old  people  about  Joe 
Gillett's  wife  she  knew ;  but,  imprisoned  to  her  couch  for 


IN  THE   CHAPEL.  127 

so  many  years,  she  had  seen  very  little  of  them,  and  had 
not,  in  her  more  active  days,  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
the  various  cottages  often. 

Till  she  had  known  Irene,  Mrs.  Bolton  had  led  that 
self-contained  life  which  is  too  common  with  invalids,  and 
her  sympathies  and  interests  had  centred  very  much  in, 
her  own  anxieties  and  troubles.  Now,  if  she  had  had 
the  bodily  power,  she  would  have  used  it  for  others,  she 
thought ;  and,  as  it  was,  the  old  people  amongst  whom 
she  lived  became  more  individual  to  her,  and  many  little 
comforts,  which  before  had  not  been  thought  of,  were 
now  dispensed  from  the  Warden's  house  by  Irene's  hand. 

Sunday  evening  passed  quickly  at  Rockdeane,  and 
Rosie  resigned  herself  to  a  dreamy  repose  with  a  book  in 
a  comfortable  chair.  Jasper  went  out  into  the  grounds ; 
and  Irene,  seated  in  one  of  the  deep  mullioned  windows, 
looked  out  upon  the  view  before  her. 

Sir  Philip  had  opened  a  pretty  peep  of  the  Cathedral 
between  the  trees,  and  both  it  and  the  old  Castle  could 
now  be  seen  from  the  front  of  the  house. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  kept  up  a  little  conversation  with  Sir 
Philip  about  their  visit  to  Bishop's  Court,  but  that  too 
soon  ceased ;  and  then  there  were  no  sounds  but  the 
evensong  of  the  birds,  and  the  soft  murmur  of  the 
stream,  as  they  were  borne  in  through  the  open  windows 
on  the  wings  of  the  soft  May  breeze,  which  scarcely 
moved  the  branches  of  the  trees  as  it  whispered  through 
them.  A  Sunday-like  repose  seemed  to  brood  over  all 
things  ;  and  Irene  had  almost  forgotten  where  she  was, 
when  Sir  Philip's  voice,  close  to  her,  startled  her. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  round  the  house  1 "  he  asked. 
"  I  have  collected  all  the  old  pictures  in  the  gallery  which 
connects  the  two  wings.  There  is  not  much  to  see, 


128  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

perhaps ;  but  I  have  found  a  little  Chapel,  which  had 
fallen  into  disuse,  and  I  have  had  a  small  harmonium  put) 
there  for  the  present,  till  I  can  get  an  organ  fitted  into 
the  proper  place.  Will  you  come  and  try  it  1 " 

Irene  rose  to  comply ;  and,  as  they  passed  through  the 
drawing-room,  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  was  scarcely 
heard  on  the  soft  pile  carpets.  Sir  Philip  smiled  as  he 
passed  Rosie's  chair.  The  book  had  fallen  from  her  hand, 
and  she  was  fast  asleep ;  her  mother  was  writing  at  a 
little  table,  and  was  so  engrossed  that  she  did  not  look 
up.  Sir  Philip  led  the  way  across  the  hall  to  a  low, 
pointed  door  in  a  remote  corner,  which  he  opened  by 
turning  one  of  those  heavy  iron  handles  which  require  a 
strong  hand  to  lift. 

Although  Sir  Philip  was  not  very  tall,  being  scarcely 
above  the  average  height,  he  was  obliged  to  bend  his  head 
a  little  as  he  passed  into  the  small  dark  passage,  at  the 
end  of  which  was  another  door  very  like  the  first,  and 
leading  into  the  small,  perpendicular  chapel,  which,  until 
now,  had  been  unused  for  years. 

"  Evidently,"  he  said,  "  this  was  the  domestic  Chapel 
in  old  days.  When  I  came  here  it  was  filled  with 
rubbish,  and  that  window  blocked  up.  I  have  had  it 
scraped  and  cleaned ;  and  here  you  see  is  the 
credence  table,  out  of  which  we  cleared  a  nest  of 
robins  last  winter.  I  have  had  these  chairs  put  in,  and 
in  time  I  shall  replace  the  Communion  table ;  the 
three  steps  here  indicate  plainly  where  it  stood.  One 
day,  when  I  can  find  courage,  I  mean  to  have  morning 
and  evening  prayer  here ;  but  it  is  rather  difficult  to 
begin  a  new  order  of  things." 

"  It  is  the  old  order,  is  it  not  ?  "  said  Irene,  in  her  low 
sweet  voice. 


IN   THE   CHAPEL.  129 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "perhaps  you  are  right.  Our  friends 
Dame  Editha  and  Sir  Philip,  I  have  no  doubt,  said  their 
daily  prayers  here." 

"I  am  sure  they  did,"  Irene  said,  earnestly,  "and  when 
those  tidings  came  from  Edge-hill,  I  can  fancy  that  she 
came  here  in  her  trouble." 

"Will  you  try  the  harmonium,"  he  said,  opening  it; 
"  and  sing  something  1  Here  are  some  books  ;  "  and  he 
put  up  upon  the  desk  some  sacred  music  and  hymns. 

Irene  had  just  struck  a  few  chords,  when  Rosie  came 
through  the  little  narrow  door,  smiling,  and  saying, 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here.  Mamma  is  coming 
too,  she  wants  to  hear  Irene  sing.  Philip  says  you  sing 
beautifully,"  she  added. 

"Let  us  all  sing  together,"  Irene  said;  "that  is  so 
much  pleasanter  with  hymns." 

"  Oh  !  Philip  says  I  get  out  of  tune ;  and  he  has  a 
very  fastidious  ear,  though  I  can't  say  his  own  voice  is 
like  a  Sims  Reeves'." 

"You  pert  child,"  said  Philip;  "how  disrespectful 
you  are  to  your  elders  and  superiors." 

Irene  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  hymn-book  ; 
and  could  not  join  in  the  light  talk  in  the  chapel,  which 
to  her  was  full  of  memories  of  the  past,  and  of  the  many 
prayers  and  praises  which  had  ascended  from  there  in  the 
days  of  long  ago. 

"  Come,  do  begin,"  Rosie  said  ;  and  very  soon  Irene's 
melodious  voice  was  ringing  through  the  little  chapel,  in 
full,  rich  cadence. 

Hymn  after  hymn  she  sang  ;  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  sat 
spell-bound,  while  those  servants  who  were  at  home 
gathered  in  the  hall  to  listen  ;  and  even  Jasper  came  with 
the  rest.  At  last,  when  "  Abide  with  me ;  fast  falls  the 

K 


130  HEIGHTS  AXD   VALLEYS. 

eventide,"  had  been  sung,  with  unwonted  sweetness  and 
earnestness,  Irene  rose. 

"  I  have  gone  on  too  long,  I  am  afraid,"  she  said ;  "  but 
I  am  so  accustomed  to  sing  every  evening  to  Cuthbert, 
that  I  forgot  how  long  I  had  kept  you." 

"  It  is  quite  charming,"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  began,  in 
tones  that  jarred  on  Sir  Philip's  ear.  "  I  suppose  you 
sing  a  great  deal  in  Rodham  society,  Miss  Clifford  ?  " 

"  No  !  indeed  I  do  not ;  I  go  very  little  into  Rodham 
society,"  Irene  answered ;  and  Sir  Philip's  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  was  not  lost  upon  her.  He  held  the  door  for 
them  as  they  went  out  of  the  chapel ;  and,  as  Irene 
passed  him,  he  said, 

"  Thank  you  !  "  in  a  way  that  brought  the  colour  to 
her  face.  "  That  is  how  you  sing  to  Cuthbert,  I  know ; 
and  not  to  Rodham  society." 

She  understood  him  at  once ;  but  she  answered  quietly, 
"  I  tried  to  think  of  the  words  I  sang,  and  of  Him  to 
whom  I  sang  them,  just  now.  Somehow,  they  were  very 
full  of  meaning  in  that  chapel." 

Again  Mrs.  Dennistoun  broke  in : — "  Come,  Miss 
Clifford,  it  will  be  too  dark  to  go  through  the  gallery  ;  " 
and,  as  she  paused  for  Irene  to  come  up  with  her,  she 
began  to  descant  on  the  improvements  and  alterations  she 
had  suggested  or  had  already  carried  out. 

The  ancestors  of  the  Dennistouns  were  very  much  like 
the  ancestors  of  other  families,  for  there  is  a  wonderful 
similarity  in  the  appearance  of  people  of  the  same  date 
in  history.  There  were  portraits  of  ladies  in  their  ruffs 
and  hoops,  their  stiff  head-dresses  and  coloured  top-knots 
— of  gentlemen  in  their  elaborate  coats,  with  ruffles  at 
the  wrists,  and  deep  lace  collars,  plumed  hats,  and 
flowing  locks — all  marking  the  age  of  the  Cavaliers. 


IN  THE   CHAPEL.  131 

Evidently,    there   had  been  no   Puritans  amongst  the 
Dennistouns. 

"This  is  Sir  Philip,  who  fell  at  Edge-hill,"  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  said.  "  There  are  several  portraits  of  him — 
one  in  Philip's  room,  which  you  shall  see  one  day.  There 
is  an  inscription  on  that  picture  which  tells  his  story.  It 
is  a  fine  face.  Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant  thinks  it  so 
very  like  the  present  Philip." 

"  Is  Lady  Editha  here  1 "  Irene  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  a  plain  little  woman — quite  unlike  what 
you  would  have  expected  Sir  Philip's  wife  to  be.  She 
hangs  next  him,  that  is  she  !  " 

"  She  looks  very  young,"  Irene  said ;  "almost  a  child  ; 
and  she  is  not  dressed  like  the  other  ladies." 

"  N"o  ;  she  had  Puritan  blood  in  her  veins.  Had  she 
not,  Philip?" 

"  Yes ;  her  father  was  an  officer  in  the  rebel  army," 
said  Philip  ;  "a  country  gentleman  in  these  parts.  His 
name  was  Buckland.  Editha,  however,  if  somewhat  of 
a  Puritan  in  her  dress,  was  a  Royalist  at  heart,  or  she 
would  scarcely  have  married  Sir  Philip.  I  like  her,"  he 
continued ;  "  I  do  something  more — I  admire  her.  The 
more  you  look  into  that  face,  the  more  it  responds  to  you." 

Lady  Editha  was  represented  in  this  portrait  as  very 
young  ;  and,  at  first  sight,  amidst  the  languishing  beauties 
surrounding  her,  you  might  have  called  her  plain.  But 
Sir  Philip  was  right  when  he  said  that  the  longer  you 
looked  at  her  the  more  her  face  seemed  to  answer  to 
your  gaze.  There  were  no  falling  curls  on  a  white, 
rounded  shoulder,  no  low  bodice,  and  no  built-up  erec- 
tion of  powdered  coiffure  above  the  square,  wide  brow. 
The  brown  hair  was  gathered  back,  and  just  shaded  the 
outline  of  the  neck,  as  the  head  was  turned  slightly  on  one 
K  2 


132  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

side.  The  features  were  regular,  and  the  mouth  especially 
grave  and  sweet  in  expression  ;  the  eyes  were  wistful 
and  tender,  with  a  far-away  look  in  them,  which  seemed 
to  be  almost  conscious  of  coming  trouble.  The  dress  was 
cut  square,  with  a  white  muslin  kerchief  filling  it  in,  and 
the  sleeves  were  short  to  the  elbow,  with  plaited  ruffles 
hanging  from  them.  The  colour  of  the  dress  was  pale 
dove ;  and  the  only  relief  was  a  rose  which  she  wore  at 
her  girdle,  and  on  which  the  artist  had  evidently 
expended  much  care ;  and  the  petals  were  yet  crim- 
son, for  time  had  scarcely  dimmed  their  brightness. 
Lady  Editha's  small  hands  were  folded  upon  her  lap, 
and  the  whole  attitude  was  at  once  one  of  patience  and 
repose. 

"  I  really  think,"  said  Rosie,  "  that  Dame  Editha  is 
like  yoxi,  Irene — only  it  is  not  paying  you  a  compliment. 
Look,  this  portrait  next  to  her  is  her  son,  Sir  Jasper,  and 
that  hard-looking  woman  is  his  wife.  But  it  is  getting 
too  dark  to  see  the  pictures  well.  Let  us  wait  till  to- 
morrow to  go  over  the  house.  I  hate  it  in  the  dark  and 
twilight ;  it  is  always  so  '  ghosty,'  as  Mrs.  Smith  says. 
She  is  the  bailiff's  wife.  I  must  take  you  to  pay  her  a 
visit,  Irene  ;  she  is  worth  seeing." 

"I  did  see  her  one  day  last  autumn,"  Irene  thought ; 
but,  as  Sir  Philip  was  near  them,  it  seemed  impossible  for 
her  to  say  so.  Eosie  soon  found  another  subject  to  talk 
about,  and  Mrs.  Smith  was  forgotten. 

When  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room  the  tea 
had  been  brought  in  ;  and  the  rest  of  the  evening  was  a 
good  deal  occupied  with  a  discussion  between  Jasper  and 
his  mother  about  an  expedition  he  wanted  to  make  the 
next  day  with  Frederick  Tillett,  to  fish  on  Derwentwater. 
At  last  Philip  was  appealed  to,  and  gave  his  opinion 


IN  THE   CHAPEL.  133 

in  the  negative — chiefly  on  the  ground  that  Frederick 
Tillett  was  not  a  good  companion  for  Jasper,  and  that  he 
did  not  wish  him  to  be  too  intimate  with  him.  Mrs. 
Dennistoitn's  reasons  for  objecting  were  different :  she  des- 
canted on  the  dangers  of  boating  ;  the  terror  she  should 
be  in  all  day  that  something  would  happen  ;  the  fear  of 
rain  ;  of  Jasper's  catching  cold  ;  and  many  other  alarms 
of  the  same  kind.  Then  she  proposed,  if  he  went,  that 
a  servant  should  go  with  him  ;  at  which  Jasper  rebelled, 
saying,  "  he  was  not  a  baby  or  a  milksop ;"  and  a  great 
deal  of  unseemly  wrangling  followed  between  mother  and 
son,  which  Philip  bore  in  silence,  till  at  last  the  powers 
of  endurance  seemed  gone,  and  Jasper  was  ordered  sternly 
to  bed.  After  his  departure  a  constrained  silence  fell 
upon  the  rest  of  the  party,  which  Rosie  finding  she  could 
not  dispel,  proposed  to  Irene  that  they  should  say  "  Good 
night,"  and  follow  Jasper's  example. 

When  the  two  girls  were  alone  together,  Rosie  settled 
herself  in  an  easy  chair,  in  Irene's  room,  and  said  they 
could  have  a  nice  talk.  Irene  was  content  to  listen  as 
Rosie  went  over  all  her  little  experiences  for  her  benefit. 
Hers  was  a  fresh,  bright  enjoyment  in  her  new  life, 
which  it  was  pleasant  to  see.  It  was  simply  the  pleasure 
of  a  girl,  and  had  nothing  in  it  of  pretension  or  foolish 
elation.  Philip  was  her  hero ;  and  Irene  smiled  at  her 
description  of  him  as  the  elder  brother  and  mainstay  of 
them  all. 

"  He  snubs  me  sometimes,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  can  take 
it  from  him  ;  he  is  so  really  great  that  I  can  understand 
how  littlenesses  and  weaknesses  irritate  him.  I  am 
only  afraid  that  Jasper,  as  he  grows  older,  will  be  the 
great  trial  to  us  all.  Mamma  cannot  contradict  him  ; 
and  if  she  attempts  to  do  so  there  is  a  scene  such  as  you 


134  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

saw  this  evening.  He  will  fight  for  his  own  way,  and 
argue  the  point ;  and  he  is  so  weak,  and  so  easily  led. 
If  it  were  not  for  Philip  I  cannot  think  what  he  would 
be.  Perhaps  Eton  will  do  him  good  ;  but  it  all  depends  on 
the  boys  he  associates  with.  That  ill-bred  boy,  Frederick 
Tillett,  can  make  him  do  anything.  All  that  horrid 
rudeness  to  your  little  nephew  the  other  day  was  his 
fault  Those  are  the  kind  of  things  which  make 
Philip  so  angry.  We  were  at  Bishop's  Court  yester- 
day," Rosie  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "  You  saw  Lady 
Eugenia  Le  Marchant  here  the  other  day ;  what  did  you 
think  of  her?" 

"  I  thought  her  pretty,  and  graceful ;  but  rather  too 
languid  in  her  manner." 

"  Yes ;  that  all  goes  off  when  she  is  interested  in  any- 
thing. She  gets  so  animated,  and  different.  She  was 
talking  to  Philip  about  his  standing  for  this  division  of 
the  county,  yesterday ;  and  she  got  quite  excited ;  and 
seemed  so  anxious  he  should  try,  and  be  successful. 
It  is  not,  somehow,  like  Philip  to  be  attracted  by 
Lady  Eugenia.  But  there  is  nothing  but  inconsis- 
tency in  people,  and  Philip  is  like  the  rest  of  the 
world.  The  provoking  part  of  it  is  that  mamma  evi- 
dently wishes  it  to  comes  to  pass,  and  makes  it  too 
obvious." 

What  the  "it"  was  Irene  did  not  inquire.  Rosie 
chatted  on  for  some  time  longer,  and  then  left  her  to  her- 
self. It  was  a  relief  to  be  alone ;  a  relief  to  go  to  the 
window,  and  see  the  star-lit  sky  and  the  great  masses  of 
the  trees,  and  to  hear  the  little  river  hurrying  over  the 
rocks  below.  Irene  knelt  by  the  open  casement  for  a 
long  time,  just  as  she  had  knelt  hundreds  of  times  in  her 
own  little  room  at  Orchard  Leigh,  in  Devonshire,  round 


IN   THE   CHAPEL.  135 

which  the  roses  clustered,  and  beneath  which  the  great 
sea,  towards  which  the  little  babbling  brook  now  sounding 
in  her  ear  was  rushing,  lay  vast  and  calm  and  beautiful 
Life  then  and  now,  how  different  it  was  !  Her  girlish 
dreams  had  been  dreamed,  and  she  had  seen  many  crumble 
into  dust.  But  the  inner  peace  was  the  same  now  as 
then.  Changes  and  decay  could  not  touch  it.  What 
though  the  one  great  tie  which  bound  her  to  life  with 
so  strong  and  firm  a  hold,  was  severed  ?  What  though  her 
mother1,  who  had  shared  every  care  and  every  joy  for  so 
many  years,  was  gone  ?  What  though  she  missed  her 
thoughtful,  though  never  demonstrative  love  in  little  as 
in  great  things;  the  one  unfailing  source  of  joy  remained, 
sometimes  less  realized,  sometimes  more,  but  still  it  was 
always  there.  In  all  her  trials  and  in  all  her  failures, 
there  wo\ild  come  to  her  soiil  the  remembrance — that  He 
to  whom  she  had  given  herself  was  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  for  ever  ! 

It  was  possible  to  live  with  Irene  for  many  days  and 
many  weeks,  and  from  her  lips  would  never,  perhaps, 
fall  words  which  conveyed  what  I  have  written  here ; 
but  nevertheless  few  could  be  with  her  for  an  hour,  with- 
out acknowledging  there  was  something  in  her,  which 
lifted  her  above  the  cares  and  tumults  of  this  busy, 
troublesome  world,  and  made  an  atmosphere  about  her 
which  beautified  her  whole  life.  As  I  write  this,  I  would 
not  let  anyone  think  that  I  wish  to  represent  Irene  as 
free  from  faults,  or  from  the  weaknesses  which  all  women 
share  in  common.  Just  at  this  moment  in  her  history, 
when  her  face  is  turned  up  to  the  sky,  from  whence  the 
stars  are  looking  down  on  her  with  eyes  of  love,  she  is 
confessing  that  she  has  been  weak ;  and  that  now,  with 
the  weight  of  twenty-four  years  upon  her  head,  she  has 


136  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

been,  dreaming  a  dream,  for  which,  at  sixteen,  she  would 
not  have  found  an  excuse.  And  she  did  not  spare 
herself;  but  when  she  lay  down  to  rest,  it  was  in 
perfect  peace,  though  it  might  be  in  the  valley  of  humi- 
liation, and  not  on  the  mountain-top  of  triumph  and 
victory. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN  OLD  FKIEND  APPEARS. 


**  Oh,  world  unknown,  how  charming  is  thy  view ! 
Thy  pleasures  many,  and  each  pleasure  new  ! 
Ah,  world  experienced,  what  of  thee  is  told  ! 
How  few  thy  pleasures,  and  those  few  how  old." 

CKABBE. 

ROSIE  and  Irene  were  out  early  the  next  morning,  for 
what  Rosie  called  "  a  real  scrambling  walk." 

"  We  will  go  over  the  moor,  and  come  round  by  the 
hamlet,  and  see  the  curiosities  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
end  with  Mrs.  Smith,  who  I  hope  will  give  us  elder-flower 
wine  and  ginger- cakes." 

Rosie  was  making  this  plan,  when  Jasper  trotted  out 
on  his  pony,  past  the  two  girls. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Jasper  ? "  Rosie  called,  as 
he  took  the  way  down  the  avenue,  while  they  were 
turning  up  towards  the  moor ;  "Jasper,  where  are  you 
going?" 

"  Just  in  the  opposite  direction  to  you,  Miss  Rosie ;  so 
make  your  mind  easy."  And  the  boy  put  the  pony  into 
a  quick  canter,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  I  hope  he  is  not  going  to  find  Frederick  Tillett,  and 
start  for  Derwentwater,"  Rosie  said,  looking  back  at 
the  hastily  retreating  figure. 


138  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  He  surely  would  not  be  so  disobedient,"  Irene 
said,  "after  what  passed  with  his  mother  last  even- 
ing?" 

"  I  would  not  trust  him,"  was  Rosie's  answer ;  "  there 
is  never  any  dependence  to  be  placed  on  Jasper.  "We 
can  get  through  the  plantations  up  here,"  she  continued ; 
"  have  you  ever  been  this  way  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  several  times  ;  it  is  a  long  walk  from  Rodham, 
but  I  have  accomplished  it  once  or  twice." 

"  Such  a  lovely  air  is  always  blowing  here,"  Rosie  said ; 
as  they  came  out  upon  the  open  country.  "  We  will  make 
for  that  stone  on  the  little  knoll,  and  there  we  will  sit 
down.  I  have  got  my  sketch-book  in  my  pocket,  and  I 
may  be  moved  to  draw." 

When  they  reached  the  spot  Rosie  indicated,  a  black 
object,  just  under  the  shadow  of  the  rough  stone,  made 
Rosie  exclaim,  "  Some  one  is  here  before  us  ;  who  can 
it  be  1  How  tiresome ;  we  shall  not  be  able  to  sit 
down  there  ;  and  that  big  stone  just  keeps  off  the  sun 
pleasantly." 

As  she  spoke,  the  black  object  moved,  and  Sir  Philip 
drew  himself  up  from  the  soft  heather  and  moss,  and 
looked  towards  them. 

"  It  is  Philip  ;  but  some  one  is  with  him — who  can  it 
be  ?  I  can't  imagine ;  for  no  one  was  in  the  house  this 
morning  at  breakfast." 

Her  curiosity  was  soon  gratified ;  for,  at  the  sound  of 
Sir  Philip's  "  Halloo,"  another  figure  started  to  his  feet, 
and  advancing  towards  them  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
greeted  Rosie  with  a  sort  of  shy  pleasure,  to  which  she 
responded. 

"An  old  friend  has  turned  up,  at  last,  Rosie;  he  always 
does  turn  up  at  the  most  unexpected  places.  Mr.  Sand- 


AN   OLD    FRIEND   APPEARS.  139 

ford,  Miss  Clifford,"  Sir  Philip  said  ;  "  a  fellow-pedestrian 
of  mine  in  Switzerland  and  Savoy." 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Sandford  said,  turning  his  knapsack  across 
his  shoulder,  and  replacing  his  big  straw  hat  upon  his 
thick  curling  hair,  "  Philip  is  always  to  be  found  on  the 
highest  ground — an  old  weakness  of  his,  Miss  Dennis- 
toun,  to  get  as  near  the  sky  as  he  can." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  ever  tried  a  balloon  yet," 
Philip  remonstrated,  as  they  all  seated  themselves  on  the 
heather. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mr.  Sandford ;  "I  was  directed  to 
this  stone  as  the  highest  point  in  the  neighbourhood  by  a 
broad  Cumberland  farmer,  and  told  that  I  should  get  the 
finest  view  of  llodham  and  out  beyond  of  the  mountains, 
and  a  strip  of  channel  to  the  north ;  not  to  mention  Rock- 
deane  below  me,  and  the  Scar  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the 
right.  I  have  proved  it  all  true  ;  and  added  to  it  a  view 
of  Sir  Philip,  lying  at  his  full  length  on  this  soft  cushion, 
and  just  as  little  surprised  to  see  me  as  if  we  had  met 
yesterday." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  always  do  crop  up  in  every  con- 
ceivable place ;  why  not  here  as  well  as  anywhere  else  ? 
So  like  you  never  to  give  me  a  line,  when  I  have  sent 
you  three  invitations  to  Rockdeane  in  due  form,  to  which 
you  have  never  replied." 

"  I  feel  shy,  you  see  ;  and  it  always  takes  off  the  edge 
of  enjoyment  when  one  thinks  too  much  of  it  before- 
hand. Besides,  you  are  such  a  great  man  now ;  and  how 
could  I  tell  if  you  really  meant  what  you  said  1 " 

"  Humph !"  said  Philip ;  "  I  really  mean  what  I  say  now ; 
which  is,  that  you  are  to  stay  here  now  you  are  come." 

"Well ;  I  daresay  I  shall  make  no  objection.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  have  left  more  garments  under  the  shadow  of 


140  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

the  Mitre,  at  Rodham,  than  I  have  in  this  little  bag.  I 
left  them  there  on  Friday ;  and  then  took  a  walk  towards 
Heathtown,  where  I  slept  last  night,  and  got  round  here 
again  to-day — a  pretty  little  stretch  of  thirty  miles  over 
a  fine  country.  I  think  I  will  pursue  my  way  to  Rodham 
now ;  and,  having  found  my  worldly  possessions,  will 
look  you  up  at  luncheon." 

"  Very  well ;  but  we  may  as  well  make  a  devour  by  the 
edge  of  the  Scar,  which  we  can  cross  at  the  upper  end,  and 
get  into  the  hamlet  of  Rockdeane  ;  that  is  what  you  were 
going  to  do,  were  you  not,  Rosie  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  round  by  Mrs.  Smith's,  that  Irene 
may  see  her;  and  I  want  her  to  see  the  house  also  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  stream.  But  let  us  rest  here  a 
little  while  ;  it  is  so  nice." 

Every  one  seemed  of  Rosie's  mind ;  and  only  a  little 
fragmentary  talk  passed  between  the  four  as  they  sat  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  the  summer  day.  The  wild  bees 
flew  past ;  and,  while  butterflies  danced  in  airy  couples 
above  the  thyme  and  heather,  Rosie's  pencil  made  a  few 
lines  on  the  blank  page  of  her  sketch-book  ;  but  she  felt 
dreamy  and  indisposed  for  much  exertion.  George 
Sandford  watched  her  from  under  the  wide  brim  of  his 
hat,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  interpret  the  expression  of 
his  face ;  while  Irene  twisted  heath  and  grass  into  all 
kinds  of  fantastic  shapes,  and  Philip  lay  almost  full-length 
a  little  apart  from  the  others — not  asleep,  as  Rosie  said, 
but  lost  in  thought. 

A  spell  seemed  to  lie  upon  the  whole  party,  which 
none  wished  to  be  the  first  to  break.  At  last,  Philip 
roused  himself,  and  said  : — 

"  If  you  and  I  are  to  get  to  Rodham  before  luncheon, 
Sandford,  we  must  push  on  now." 


AN   OLD   FKIEND  APPEARS.  141 

He  stood  up  as  he  spoke,  and  began  to  take  long  strides 
over  the  low  grass  and  heather.  George  Sandford 
lingered ;  evidently  he  wished  Irene  to  be  the  next  to 
follow  ;  but  it  was  Eosie,  who,  with  a  few  springs,  reached 
her  brother's  side,  and  Irene  was  left  with  George 
Sandford.  Philip  walked  on,  and  the  others  were  some 
way  behind. 

"  Have  you  known  them  long  ?  "  Irene's  companion 
asked,  at  last. 

"  You  mean  Sir  Philip  and  his  sister  1  "  Irene  said 
quickly. 

"  Yes;  of  course,  I  do,"  was  the  answer. 

"  No  ;  I  have  only  known  the  Dennistouns  since  last 
autumn  ;  my  brother-in-law,"  she  added,  "  is  Sir  Philip's 
lawyer." 

"  I  have  known  him  for  years,"  was  the  rejoinder ; 
"  I  saw  him  last  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  was  the  first 
to  tell  him  of  old  Sir  Jasper's  death.  I  intended,  as  much 
as  I  ever  intend  anything,  to  come  here  sooner;  but 
somehow,  I  went  on  to  Italy  for  the  winter,  and  since 
then  I  have  been  wasting  my  time  in  Corsica.  I  am  a 
bird  of  passage  you  see." 

"  Have  you  no  settled  home  ?  "  Irene  asked. 

"  Well,   yes  ;  the   home  is   settled,    only  I  never  am.   t 
I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  the  heir  to  a  little  place  and 
a  few  acres  in  Somersetshire.     I  am  an  only  son,  another 
misfortune  ;  and  I  have  never  had  any  need  to  earn  my 
bread." 

"Misfortune  the  third,"  said  Irene,  laughing. 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  you,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  greatest 
of  all.  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Philip  at  one  time,  as  he 
got  my  old  father  well  out  of  some  ridiculous  action  as  to 
a  right  of  way.  He  is  a  fine  fellow ;  always  first  somehow, 


142  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

always  doing  something  well,  and  never  a  bit  set  up  by  it. 
Now  here  he  is  lord  of  all  this," — giving  his  hand  a  rapid 
swing  through  the  air — "and  I  don't  believe  it,  or  anything 
else,  will  spoil  him.  The  only  thing  is,  he  is  always 
looking  for  something  above  him — some  point  he  wants  to 
reach ;  and  now,  bless  me,  there  seems  nothing  left  for  him 
to  attain — he  has  got  all.  I  like  a  little  local  gossip,  and 
mine  host  at  the  inn  at  Heathtown  regaled  me  with 
some  last  night.  He  said  the  new  Baronet  was  very 
popular,  and  he  was  going  to  stand  for  the  county,  and 
marry  some  one  with  a  name  a  yard  long — Lady 
Theodoria,  or  Euphemia  Le  Marchant,  who  had  a  fortune 
to  add  to  Sir  Philip's." 

Irene  could  not  help  being  amused  with  her  com- 
panion, whom  she  discovered,  at  once,  to  be  one  of  those 
people,  who,  on  a  broad  foundation  of  common  sense, 
play  off  a  variety  of  eccentricities  for  the  edification  of 
their  neighbours. 

"  Mine  host  of  the  Red  Lion,  Heathtown,  also  told 
me  some  stories  of  the  country  side,  about  old  Sir  Jasper ; 
how,  in  his  youth  "  ....  he  checked  himself  suddenly  ; 
"  but  I  daresay  it  is  not  worth  repeating  these  fictions. 
I  wish  Philip  would  not  stalk  on  ahead  in  that  fashion, 
and  take  his  sister  in  his  wake ;  and  where  is  he  gone 
now  1  " 

For  Sir  Philip's  and  Rosie's  figures  were  lost  in  the 
gorse  and  brake,  as  they  took  a  path  seldom  trod,  which 
wound  down  to  a  foot-bridge  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine, 
where,  crossing  the  river,  another  path  led  up  the 
opposite  bank. 

Irene  brushed  away  the  brake,  which  was  almost  as 
tall  as  she  was,  and  she  and  Mr.  Sandford  followed  in  the 
track  of  Sir  Philip  and  Rosie.  At  last,  at  the  little 


AN  OLD   FRIEND   APPEAES.  143 

bridge,  there  was  a  halt  made  by  those  in  advance,  and 
then  Sir  Philip  and  George  Sandford  exchanged  places. 
The  great  gleam  of  satisfaction  which  struck  across  George 
Sandford's  face,  was  evidently  amusing  to  Sir  Philip. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  he  ejaculated ;  "  I  am  afraid  it  is  like 
the  moth  singing  its  wings  at  the  candle  ;  "  and  then  he 
3nd  Irene  pursued  their  way,  gradually  falling  into 
Conversation,  which  was  scarcely  less  restrained  than  in 
days  past.  After  half-an-hour's  walking  on  the  edge  of 
the  bank,  they  came  to  a  little  opening  in  the  coppice, 
which  Irene  at  once  recognised  as  the  place  where 
Randal  had  disappeared  in  search  of  the  blackberries  on 
that  September  day.  Sir  Philip  came  to  a  pause ;  and 
turning  full  upon  her,  said  : — 

"  It  is  just  below  here  that  you  and  Randal  hung 
suspended  in  mid-air  last  autumn.  I  have  never 
forgotten  your  presence  of  mind  and  calmness  then." 

Irene  did  not  answer  ;  and  then  presently  said,  in  an 
indifferent  tone,  "  I  hope  I  may  never  need  presence  of 
mind  more  than  I  did  then ;  after  all,  it  was  nothing, 
only  to  keep  still." 

"  But  if  help  had  not  come,  you  could  not  have  held 
out  much  longer,"  Philip  was  about  to  say ;  and  then 
stopped  himself.  If  Irene  did  not  wish  to  remember  that 
that  help  was  his — he  would  not  be  the  one  to  remind 
her  of  it.  That  any  one  so  gentle  and  quiet  in  manner 
should  have  such  powers  of  resistance  in  her,  surprised 
him.  He  always  felt  now,  that  he  could  come  to  a 
certain  point  with  her,  and  no  farther.  Anything 
personal  was  at  once  put  aside — while  on  all  topics  of 
general  interest,  she  could  talk  as  easily  as  ever.  With 
Lady  Eugenia,  he  told  himself,  it  was  different.  She  led 


144  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

the  conversation  almost  always  to  matters  which 
concerned  him  or  herself. 

He  had  not  known  her  long  ;  but  he  was  in  full  pos- 
session of  what  she  considered  the  trials  of  her  life — her 
weak  health,  and  the  little  sympathy  which  she  ex- 
perienced from  her  uncle  and  aunt,  whom  she  was 
pleased  to  look  upon  as  very  common-place  and  prosaic 
individuals,  who  could  not  understand  the  aspirations  of 
a  woman  like  herself.  Then  she  had  a  subtle  way  of 
extracting  like  confidences  from  him  ;  and  to  schemes  and 
plans  for  the  future,  which  pointed  to  any  increase  of 
influence  and  position,  she  listened  with  deep  interest. 

There  were  moments  when  Lady  Eugenia's  careless, 
irreverent  allusion  to  things  which  he  held  sacred  would 
jar  upon  Sir  Philip's  feelings,  and  there  were  moments 
when  he  showed  this,  and  she  would  carefully  avoid  any 
repetition  for  the  time.  But,  however  guarded  we  may 
be,  the  real  self  will  peep  out  at  unsuspected  corners, 
and  cannot  always  be  hid. 

Eugenia  Le  Marchant  was,  I  fear,  a  woman  of 
which  there  are  an  increasing  number  in  these  nineteenth 
centuiy  days.  She  could  descant  on  any  popular  subject, 
and  give  her  opinion  upon  it ;  and  she  believed  herself  in 
earnest  about  the  improvement  of  her  own  intellectual 
calibre,  and  that  of  other  women  also.  But  it  was  the 
building  up  of  a  fabric  without  a  foundation.  At  any 
moment,  under  the  pressure  of  trial  or  sorrow,  of  sick- 
ness, or  of  death,  the  whole  might  fall,  and  the  ruin  of 
the  house  be  great. 

The  gifts  and  graces  of  an  intellectual  and  refined 
woman  are,  beyond  all  doubt,  of  great  value ;  but,  if  she 
would  use  them  for  the  good  of  her  day  and  generation, 
tl'«^  must  be  something  deeper  still,  which  no  mere 


AN   OLD   FRIEND  APPEARS.  145 

mental  cultivation  can  reach.  There  must  be  the  surrender 
of  self  to  Him,  whose  love  is  the  only  worthy  object  of 
an  immortal  soul — the  only  thing  which  can  satisfy  its 
longings,  and  teach  it  its  really  high  vocation — a  voca- 
tion which  saintly  women  of  old  times,  aye,  and  of 
modern  times,  too,  have  followed ;  and,  whether  with  or 
without '  all  knowledge  and  all  tongues,'  have  found  blessed 
for  this  world,  and  how  much  more  for  the  next  ! 

At  the  door  of  Mr.  Smith's  house,  Sir  Philip  and  Mr. 
Sandford  left  the  two  girls,  and  pursued  their  way  to 
Rodham  at  the  rapid,  even  pace  with  which  great  walkers 
always  get  over  the  ground. 

Mrs.  Smith  kept  her  visitors  waiting,  as  usual,  in  the 
little  parlour,  which  looked  precisely  as  it  had  done 
months  before,  while  she  changed  her  cap  and  gown. 

"  Smith  was  neither  better  nor  worse,"  she  said,  in 
answer  to  Rosie's  inquiries  ;  "  he  was  rasped  and  put  out 
by  Sir  Philip  getting  an  under-bailiff ;  but,  lor,  it  was 
quite  natural.  It  was  not  as  if  he  had  taken  off  any  of 
Smith's  salary  ;  he  was  much  too  open-handed  for 
that.  But  there,"  said  the  good  woman,  "  his  tantrums 
are  dreadful,  poor  soul.  It's  pain  that  does  it,  and  he 
is  that  helpless  now,  he  is  like  an  infant ;  but  one  never 
knows  what  a  man  may  bring  himself  or  his  wife  to — 
you  young  ladies,  remember  that." 

The  redundant  roses  in  Mrs.  Smith's  best  cap  nodded 
over  the  elder  flower  wine  as  she  spoke,  which,  as  Rosie 
had  prophesied,  made  its  appearance,  together  with  the 
thin  ginger  cakes,  which  were  scarcely  tangible  in  the 
mouth — wafers,  in  fact,  which  Huntley  and  Palmer  could 
hardly  rival. 

To  Rosie's  surprise,  Mrs.  Smith  addressed  Irene  as  an 
old  acquaintance,  and  inquired  after  Randal,  and  then. 

L 


146  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

laughed  long  and  loud  at  the  mistake  she  had  made  in 
addressing  her  as  Sir  Philip's  wife. 

"Lor,  how  confused  they  both  looked,"  she  said  to 
Rosie  ;  "and  I  never  to  know  the  new  Baronet.  But  I 
know  him  now,  well  enough ;  and  I  can  tell  you,  Miss 
Clifford,  it  will  be  a  lucky  woman  whoever  is  my  lady 
at  last.  Perhaps  she  may  never  come,  though  I  did 
hear  the  other  day  she  was  to  be  the  lady  belonging  to 
the  Bishop's  family  ;  but  I  can't  mind  her  name — it  was 
such  a  long  one.  You  know  who  I  mean." 

"Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant,"  Rosie  said;  "I  sup- 
pose you  are  thinking  of  her ;  but,  indeed,  Mrs.  Smith, 
I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  my  brother  has  thought  of 
her  in  the  way  you  mean." 

At  this  moment  a  loud  thumping  overhead,  repeated, 
and,  indeed,  almost  continuous,  was  heard. 

"That's  Smith  at  it.  You  know,  Miss  Dennistoun, 
how  he  goes  on.  He  is  sitting  up  to-day  in  his  arm- 
chair. A  pretty  fuss  we  have  had  to  get  him  there ; 
and  now,  I  dare  say,  he  wants  to  go  back  to  bed.  Just 
excuse  me  a  minute,  young  ladies ; "  and  the  good  woman 
departed  to  her  exigeant  lord  and  master. 

"  Isn't  she  fun  1  "  Rosie  asked,  as  Mrs.  Smith  left  the 
room  ;  "but  how  was  it  she  had  seen  you  before,  Irene  ? 
You  never  told  me  ;  and  what  was  the  joke  about  you 
and  Philip  1  Did  he  bring  you  here  1  " 

The  colour  came  to  Irene's  face,  and  she  said : 
"  Randal  and  I  were  walking  along  the  bank  of  the  river 
one  day  last  autumn,  and  he  lost  his  balance  in  reaching 
over  a  bit  of  rock  to  gather  some  blackberries.  I  caught 
his  arm,  and  held  him  up.  Sir  Philip  saw  us  from  the 
Terrace  at  Rockdeane,  and  came  to  our  rescue.  After- 
wards, Randal,  who  had  sprained  his  arm,  was  glad  to  lie 


AN   OLD  FIUEND   APPEARS.  147 

down  in  this  room  •  -while  Sir  Philip  got  a  carriage — a 
gig,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  call  it — to  take  us  home.  That 
is  all." 

"  How  strange  that  you  never  told  me  about  it  before, 
Irene ;  but  I  remember  Philip  once  said  you  had  the  greatest 
amount  of  self  possession  and  presence  of  mind  he  ever 
saw.  That  was  in  the  days  when  he  used  to  tell  me  so 
much  about  you.  Now  he  never "  Rosie  stopped. 

"There  is  no  need  to  tell  you  about  me  now,  is 
there  1 "  Irene  answered,  gently.  "You  know  me  for 
yourself." 

"  I  don't  think  I  do,"  Rosie  said ;  "  I  would  know 
you  and  love  you  so  much,  if  you  would  let  me." 

"  You  are  always  so  kind,"  said  Irene  ;  "  and  you  must 
not  think  I  don't  feel  it,  for  I  do.  It  is  not  my  way  to 
say  much  ;  but  you  may  depend  upon  me,  dear,  as  a  friend, 
if  you  ever  need  one." 

The  tone  was  caressing  and  tender ;  and  little  Rosie,  in 
her  quick,  impulsive  way,  threw  her  arms  round  Irene, 
and  kissed  her,  saying, 

"  I  like  you  to  love  me — you  are  so  good."  And  then 
she  went  on,  almost  in  the  same  breath,  "  Do  you  like 
Philip's  friend,  Mr.  Sandford  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  he  is  very  original  and  amusing  ;  but 
he  seems  very  erratic  in  his  tendencies." 

"So  different  to  old  Philip;  and  yet  they  are  great 
allies.  Mamma  does  not  like  him ;  and  I  know  we  shall 
have  a  little  snubbing, scene  to-day,  when  he  appears  at 
luncheon,  after  the  manner  of  the  Tilletts,  and  such 

folk." 

"Those  unlucky  Tilletts,"  said  Irene,  laughing.     "I 

hear  them  quoted  on  all  hands." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Smith  returned, 
L  2 


148  HEIGHTS    AND   VALLEYS. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  such  nonsense  ?  "  she  said.  "  If 
that  trying  man  doesn't  want  to  see  you  young  ladies  ; 
but,  as  I  tell  him,  he  isn't  fit  to  be  seen ;  and " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  said  Rosie,  with  an  almost  perceptible 
shudder ;  "  I  am  sure  we  had  better  not  go  upstairs,  thank 
you.  Indeed,  I  think  we  must  go  home  now,  Irene,  or 
we  shall  be  late  for  luncheon." 

"Well,  there,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  instantly,  after  the 
fashion  of  wives,  wishing  to  gratify  her  husband,  when 
another  seemed  to  contradict  him,  "  he  has  a  dullish  time 
of  it,  no  doubt ;  and  I  have  got  the  room  tidy,  and  he  is 
in  his  best  flowered  dressing-gown,  and " 

But  Rosie  was  resolute;  and  her  beseeching  look  at 
Irene  was  so  amusing,  that  she  restrained  the  inclination 
she  felt  to  go  and  see  the  poor  old  man,  and  try  to  cheer 
and  soften  him  ;  and,  bidding  Mrs.  Smith  good-bye,  left 
the  house  with  Rosie. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  could  have  gone  up  to  see 
that  horrid  old  man  ? "  Rosie  asked,  as  they  walked 
away. 

"  Why  not  1 "  said  Irene.  "  If  I  were  in  old  Mr. 
Smith's  place,  I  dare  say  I  should  be  glad  of  the  variety 
of  a  new  face ;  and,  besides,  there  is  no  telling  what  a 
little  kindness  and  sympathy  might  do  for  him." 

"  I  knew  you  were  longing  to  go  and  talk  '  goody  '  to 
him,"  said  Rosie,  "  just  as  you  do  to  the  old  Almshouse 
people ;  but  you  should  hear  what  Philip  says  of 
Mr.  Smith.  He  says  it'  is  a  perfect  penance  to  go  near 
him.  He  does  nothing  biit  abuse  his  wife  ;  and,  one  day, 
when  Philip  was  there,  he  threw  a  book  at  her — for  he 
has  the  use  of  one  arm,  though  not  of  his  legs." 

Irene  looked  grave  ;  and  Rosie  said,  quickly,  ''  You 
didn't  like  my  saying,  '  talk  goody,'  did  you  1  n 


AX    OLD    FRIEND    APPEARS.  149 

"  You  seem  to  interpret  my  face  so  well  that  I  need 
not  answer,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  have  guessed  what  I 
felt  twice  this  morning." 

"  Don't  be  vexed  with  me,"  Rosie  said,  in  her  child- 
like way.  "  I  know  perfectly  well  that  I  am  not  half  as 
good  as  you  are.  And,  oh,  dear  !  I  rather  dread  what  is 
coming.  Mamma  is  sure  to  be  disagreeable  about  Mr. 
Sandford.  I  should  not  wonder  if  she  pretends  she  has 
forgotten  who  he  is  !  " 

Irene's  voice  was  very  grave  now,  as  she  said,  "  Do 
not  speak  in  that  way  of  your  mother,  Rosie  !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mean  anything,  you  know.  Mamma 
and  I  understand  each  other  ;  and  I  am  always  proud  of 
her.  As  mistress  of  Rockdeane  she  is  perfect,  except 
when  she  turns  the  cold  shoulder  on  people,  as  she  will 
to-day  you  will  see.  Well ;  I  don't  think  he  will  take  it 
to  heart." 

Luncheon  was  more  than  half  over  when  the  dining- 
room  door  opened,  and  Sir  Philip  came  in. 

"Here  is  my  friend  Sandford,"  he  said,  introducing 
the  tall,  awkward  figure,  in  the  rough  grey  suit,  advancing 
with  his  enormous  straw  hat  in  his  hand  to  greet  Mrs. 
Dennistoun.  "  I  have  picked  him  up  on  the  Moor,  and 
we  have  been  down  into  Rodham  to  rescue  his  luggage 
from  the  Mitre  ;  and  we  have  come  up  the  hill  in  a  cab, 
from  the  same  venerable  and  time-honoured  establish- 
ment, worthy  its  name,  which  is  suggestive  of  all  the 
uneasy  heads  that  ever  wore  an  episcopal  crown." 

"Rosie,"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  stiffly,  "do  you  re- 
member Mr.  Sandford  1  Miss  Clifford — Mr.  Sandford." 

The  colour  came  into  Rosie 's  face,  as  she  said,  "I  have 
seen  Mr.  Sandford  before  this  morning,  mamma — we  met 
him  on  the  Moor." 


150  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  drily.  "How  very 
late  Jasper  is,"  she  went  on ;  "he  must  have  gone  for  a 
very  long  ride.  You  know  nothing  of  him,  I  suppose, 
Philip  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  do,"  said  Philip.  "Mr.  Tillett  told 
me  that  Jasper  and  his  son  were  gone  for  a  day's 
fishing." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  "how  dreadfully 
anxious  I  shall  be." 

"And  I  shall  be  something  more  than  anxious,"  said 
Philip.  "  He  must  know  that  such  an  act  of  disobedience 
shall  not  be  repeated.  Now,  Eosie,"  he  went  on, 
changing  his  tone,  "  what  do  you  say  to  an  expedition  to 
Der  went  water  to-morrow  1  A  quiet  family  pic-nic,  you 
know." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  delightful,"  said  Eosie.  "I  have 
never  had  a  proper  day  on  Derwentwater  yet." 

All  this  time  Mr.  Sandford  had  been  doing  justice  to 
the  varied  viands  before  him.  He  was  apparently  quite 
indifferent  to  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  cold  reception,  and  kept 
up  a  conversation  with  Eosie,  which  was  evidently 
interesting  to  both. 

"We  will  start  early,"  Philip  said,  "and  take  our 
luncheon  with  us.  We  can  dine  when  we  return,  at 
seven  or  eight,  as  the  case  may  be.  I  must  consult  the 
railway  book." 

"  Is  not  the  weather  too  hot,  Philip  ?  "  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun interposed.  "  I  should  be  afraid  of  Eosie  and  Jasper 
exerting  themselves  too  much  in  the  heat." 

"  I  think  Eosie  will  not  succumb,"  said  Philip 
quietly.  "  Jasper  will  not  have  the  chance ;  as  he  has 
gone  to-day  in  direct  opposition  to  your  wishes  and  mine, 
he  must  stay  at  home  to-morrow." 


AN  OLD  FEIEND  APPEARS.  151 

Philip's  determined  manner  admitted  of  no  remon- 
strance ;  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  rose,  and  left  the  room, 
with  Rosie  and  Irene. 

"  Well,"  George  Sandford  said,  when  Philip  and  he 
were  alone  together ;  "I  have  entered  into  temptation, 
and  it  is  no  use  trying  to  resist  it.  You  know  what  I 
mean." 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  sai,d  Philip ;  "  but  don't  take  holy 
words  in  vain,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  his  friend ;  "  I  wish  you  would  not  come 
down  upon  me  like  that.  But  seriously,  Philip ;  unless  you 
wish  to  make  an  end  of  me  altogether,  you  must  say — go, 
or  stay.  I  can't  be  near  her  without  making  a  fool  of 
myself.  I  can't  talk  fine  talk  about  it ;  but  this  I  know, 
if  you  will  let  me  try  and  win  your  sister,  you  shall  never 
repent  it." 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  "  I  don't  think  I  should  ;  but  her 
mother  must  be  consulted — and  how  about  Rosie  herself?  " 

"  Ah  !  that  is  the  hitch ;  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  suppose 
I  hope.  I  am  getting  tired  of  my  wandering-jew  sort  of 
life,  and  I  think  I  could  do  very  well  now  in  the  old  place 
at  home.  With  her,  I  could  live  in  peace  at  Stow,  and 
turn  into  the  worthy,  easy-going  country  squire.  Of 
course  I  should  want  a  fling  once  a-year  ;  and  she — but 
it  is  great  rubbish  talking  like  this,  as  if  I  were  sure. 
Only,  Philip,  if  you  let  me  stay  here,  you  must  take 
the  consequences." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Sir  Philip ;  "  ours  has  been  a  long 
friendship,  Sandford,  and  you  know  me  pretty  well  by 
this  time ;  I  could  wish  nothing  better  for  Rosie  than 
what  you  offer  her.  One  thing  let  me  say ;  your  want  of 
reverence  sometimes  jars  upon  me.  Any  chaff  or  banter 


152  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

you  please;  only,  not  about  the  unseen  and  the  sacred. 
Give  me  your  hand,  old  fellow.  " 

George  Sandford  locked  Philip's  fingers  in  such  a  vice, 
that  he  could  scarcely  help  crying  out  for  mercy  ;  and  so 
the  compact  was  sealed. 

"  How  long  does  your  friend  propose  staying  here  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  the  next  day,  in  a  pause,  before 
the  whole  party  started  for  Derwentwater,  while  the  girls 
were  dressing,  and  the  hampers  were  being  stowed 
away  by  the  footmen  on  the  box  of  the  waggonette.  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  was  ready  herself;  and  this  question  was 
put  to  her  stepson  in  a  moment  of  irritation ;  for  he 
had  refused  to  condone  Jasper's  offence  of  yesterday,  by 
allowing  him  to  join  the  party  to-day. 

"  He  will  be  utterly  ruined/'  Sir  Philip  had  said,  "  if 
he  is  allowed  to  go  on  in  this  wilful  fashion  ;  if  it  is  bad 
at  thirteen,  what  will  it  a  few  years  hence  ?  " 

Thus  there  was  in  Mrs.  Dennistoun 's  voice  a  tone  of 
querulous  dissatisfaction,  as  she  went  on — "  Of  course, 
Philip,  all  your  friends  are  welcomed  by  me  at  Rock- 
deane.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  my  duty  to  wel- 
come them ;  but  I  don't  feel  quite  satisfied  about  this  Mr. 
Sandford.  I  really  fear  he  has  some  absurd  idea  of 
proposing  to  Rosie.  He  may  be  all  that  is  clever  and 
original,  and  you  may  like  him  as  a  travelling  com- 
panion, and  so  on;  but,  of  course,  Rosie  must  now  look  a 
great  deal  higher  than — of  course,  such  a  thing  is  out  of 
the  question. " 

There  was  an  amused  twinkle  in  Philip's  eye,  which 
did  not  escape  Mrs.  Dennistoun ;  and  she  went  on  more 
sharply — "  If  you  are  in  Mr.  Sandford's  confidence,  Philip, 
I  think  you  ought  at  once  to  tell  him  that  I  cannot  con- 


AN   OLD    FRIEND   APPEARS.  153 

sent  to — that  any  idea  of  an  engagement  between  him 
and  Rosie  could  not  possibly  meet  my  approval.  Philip, 
do  you  hear  ? " 

Philip  had  been  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  "  Pall 
Mall "  in  his  usually  quiet  fashion,  while  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun  was  speaking.  He  put  it  down  now;  and  said, 
with  a  smile  lurking  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  "  I 
think  Sandford  had  better  plead  his  own  cause  with 
you  ;  he  is  as  honest  a  fellow  as  ever  breathed ;  and  I 
have  the  highest  opinion  of  his  principles.  I  know 
what  his  feelings  are  for  Rosie ;  but  I  am  in  ignorance 
about  hers  for  him.  She  would  fall  into  very  good 
hands,  if  she  fell  into  Sandford's ;  and  you  know,  as 
far  as  worldly  matters  go,  he  is  in  a  veiy  good  posi- 
tion. His  father  and  mother  are  old  people ;  he  is  the 
only  son;  and  there  is  an  income  of  1,500?.  a-year,  which 
goes  with  Stow." 

"  £1,500  a-year!"  said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  with  a  con- 
temptuous ring  in  her  voice  ;  "  and  Stow  is  merely  one  of 
those  old  farmhouses,  with  gable  roofs  and  wide  staircases, 
which  pass  for  gentlemen's  houses  in  Somersetshire. 
Besides,  the  old  man  actually  does  farm,  does  he  not  ? " 

"  I  daresay  :  but  he  sent  his  son  to  the  University,  and, 
if  he  had  been  so  disposed,  he  might  have  made  his  way 
in  any  profession.  And  really  a  year  ago,  you  and  I,  and 
Jasper  and  Rosie,  would  have  thought  half  1,500?.  a-year 
riches  for  us  all." 

"  You  are  so  fond  of  going  over  the  past ;  you  forget 
that  you  were  always  the  heir  of  Rockdeane.  However, 
I  heartily  wish  I  had  not  consented  to  this  expedi- 
tion ;  poor  Jasper,  condemned  to  solitary  imprisonment, 
too!" 

"  Come,  mamma,  come,  Philip,  we  are  all  ready,"  said 


154  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

Rosie  ;  "  we  shall  be  late  for  the  train — we  shall,  indeed. 
What  are  you  talking  about  ] " 

"Don't  be  so  impatient,  Rosalie"  (her  name  in  full 
was  ominous) ;  "  get  into  the  carriage.  I  have  a  word 
to  say  to  Mrs.  Mason." 

"  Mamma,"  exclaimed  Rosie,  in  an  agony,  "  you  will 
make  us  late  ;  pray,  come." 

But  Mrs.  Dennistoim  did  not  hurry ;  and  rang  the  bell 
of  the  morning-room,  where  the  conversation  with 
Philip  had  taken  place,  and  summoned  Mrs.  Mason  to  a 
consultation. 

"  Come,  Rosie,"  said  Philip,  pitying  his  sister's  dis- 
tress ;  "  we  will  go  and  settle  ourselves.  It  is  a  comfort^ 
the  waggonette  will  hold  us  all.  Now,  then  ; "  and  he 
handed  Irene  and  Rosie  to  vis-ct-vis  places,  then  waited 
for  Mrs.  Dennistoun  with  George  Sandford. 

At  last  she  appeared,  and  they  were  fairly  off,  and  just 
in  time  for  the  train.  And  then  very  soon  they  had  left 
the  old  city  of  Rodham  far  behind,  and  were  amidst  the 
mountains,  with  Derwentwater  stretched  out  like  a  vast 
blue  mirror  before  them. 

Sir  Philip  hired  a  boat ;  and  he  and  George  Sandford 
rowed  about  the  lake  and  landed  on  Lord's  Island,  where 
the  baskets  were  unpacked  by  the  servants  and  Sir  Philip, 
and  the  cold  repast  eaten,  which  did  credit  to  Mrs. 
Mason's  skill. 

The  day  passed,  as  such  days  do  pass ;  to  two,  at  least, 
of  the  party  it  was  always  marked  with  a  red  letter  in 
their  calendar.  Irene,  perhaps,  found  her  task  the  most 
difficult,  for  Mrs.  Dennistoun  was  inaccessible  to  any 
effort  she  made  at  small  talk,  and  was  restless  and  uneasy 
when  she  saw  her  daughter  talking  to  Mr.  Sandford  ; 
making  attempts  to  recall  Rosie  when  she  was  wandering 


AN   OLD   FRIEND   APPEARS.  155 

away  to  look  for  ferns,  and  continually  saying  that 
it  was  getting  time  to  think  of  returning  to  the  boat. 

At  last  Irene  gave  it  up,  and  went  to  enjoy  solitude  in 
a  little  romantic  cleft,  between  the  masses  of  rock,  where 
a  busy  stream  laughed  arid  chattered  at  her  feet,  hidden, 
by  the  long  ferns  and  mosses  which  grew  on  its  banks, 
and  were  bright  with  the  living  green  which  their  neigh- 
bourhood to  the  streamlet  gave  them.  Through  the  trees 
Irene  could  catch  the  outline  of  Helvellyn ;  and  on 
the  lake,  not  very  far  from  her,  could  be  seen  St.  Her- 
bert's Island,  where  the  loving  spirit  of  the  hermit  was 
taken  to  heaven  in  answer  to  his  prayer,  at  the  same 
moment  when  St.  Cuthbert,  too,  the  friend  who  was  as 
his  own  soul,  was  also  borne  thither. 

"  Legend  though  it  be,  it  is  a  story  full  of  beauty," 
Irene  thought;  "  life  with  those  we  love  is  sweet;  but 
what  must  be  the  sweetness  of  death  with  them.  At  the 
same  moment  to  pierce  'the  veil,  and  know  as  we  are 
known?" 

"  Isn't  there  a  legend  about  that  island  yonder  ?  "  Sir 
Philip  asked,  as  if  following  the  train  of  her  thoughts. 

Irene  had  not  heard  his  footstep,  and  turned  quickly. 
But  she  answered, — 

"  Yes ;  there  are  the  ruins  of  a  hermitage  there, 
where  St.  Herbert  lived — St.  Cuthbert's  friend,  you 
know." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  tell  me." 

She  repeated  the  story  in  a  few  words,  but  in  her  own 
simple  way. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  those  old  men  when  I  came 
and  disturbed  you  ? "  Philip  asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  like  the  story,  and  I  have  often  told  it  to 
Cuthbert.  It  possesses  an  interest  for  him,  as  the  name 


156  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

is  his.  He  wishes  to  take  me  with  him,  he  says,  when 
his  time  comes  ;  poor  little  man  ! " 

u  You  are  his  Herbert,  then,"  said  Sir  Philip,  with  a 
smile. 

But  Irene  did  not  smile.  "  Yes ;  I  suppose  I  am.  My 
name,  too,  is  Herbert ;  it  was  my  mother's  maiden 
name,  and  I  bear  it  from  that  reason." 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Philip,  earnestly ;  "  poor  little 
Cuthbert  will,  I  doubt  not,  go  very  early  to  his  rest ; 
but  there  will  be  many,  I  should  think,  to  pray 
a  contrary  prayer  to  his — many  who  could  not  spare 
you." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  was  everything  to  one  who  is 
gone  from  me  ;  but  since  then  it  has  been  different." 

There  was  always  a  fascination  for  Sir  Philip  in  lis- 
tening to  Irene  ;  her  conversation  was  so  unconventional ; 
and  if  he  had  put  it  into  words,  he  would  have  said  it 
rested  him. 

"  Why  should  it  1 "  he  asked ;  "  why  should  it  be  dif- 
ferent?" 

"  Death  has  separated  us — my  mother  and  me — and  I 
could  often  have  pr-ayed  St.  Herbert's  prayer.  But  it  is 
all  for  the  best — though  that  is  such  a  hackneyed  thing 
to  say.  Still,  there  is  a  loneliness  sometimes — just  that 
miss  of  certain  sympathy  and  certain  interest  in  joys  and 
sorrows — which  is  not  to  be  felt  with  every  one  or  with 
many — 

"  Mothers  and  daughters,  in  my  experience  of  life,  are 
not  often  so  much  to  each  other." 

"  No,"  Irene  said,  with  a  sad  smile  ;  "  I  don't  think 
they  are." 

And  here  another  footstep  made  her  turn  her  head  ; 
and  the  footman,  Percy,  came  to  say  that  he  was  sent  to 


AN    OLD    FRIEND   APPEARS.  157 

look  for  Sir  Philip,  by  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  order,  and  that 
she  was  afraid  it  was  getting  late. 

Irene  rose  at  once,  her  hands  full  of  ferns  and  blue-bells, 
which  still  lingered  amongst  the  roots  of  trees,  and  Philip 
followed  at  a  leisurely  pace. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  was  standing  by  the  lake  at  the  spot 
where  the  boat  had  been  moored,  and  was  evidently 
much  disconcerted  at  the  continued  absence  of  Mr.  Sand- 
ford  and  Rosie,  and  greeted  Irene  with — 

"  Really,  Miss  Clifford,  unless  you  wish  to  spend  the 
night  at  Keswick,  I  wish  you  would  make  haste.  Philip, 
have  you  any  idea  where  your  sister  is  gone  1  Oh,  here 
she  is.  Now,  pray,  let  us  get  off  as  quickly  as  possible. 
t  thought,  Rosie,  you  understood  that  we  intended 
leaving  this  island  at  four  o'clock.  We  have  to  get  across 
the  lake,  and  then  drive  to  the  station  at  Keswick." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  am  late,  mamma,"  Rosie  said,  in  a 
tone  which  might  have  disarmed  any  displeasure. 

And  Philip  came  to  the  rescue  with,  "  Never  mind, 
Rosie  ;  Sandford  and  I  can  pull  at  a  tolerable  rate.  Take 
the  rudder,  child." 

But  Rosie  was  dreamy  and  confused,  and  sent  the  boat 
off  in  such  a  zigzag  fashion,  that  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
screamed  ;  and  her  brother  said — 

"  Miss  Clifford,  will  you  take  her  place  ?" 

And  then,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  they  were  all 
in  the  carriage  again,  driving  from  Rodham  to  Rockdeane. 

Everyone  was  silent  and  preoccupied  ;  and  it  might 
be  called  the  calm  before  the  storm.  That  night,  when 
Irene  had  been  some  time  in  her  room,  Rosie's  tap 
was  heard,  and  she  came  in,  with  her  hair  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and  threw  herself  into  Irene's  arms,  sobbing  with  all 
the  passionate  grief  of  eighteen. 


158  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  i  have  been  to  mamma,  to  tell  her,  Irene,"  she  began. 

"To  tell  her  what?" 

"  Oh,  you  must  know  !  You  must  guess  !  And  she 
is  so  dreadful  about  it ;  and  she  says  that  when  he  comes 
to  her  to-morrow  to  ask  her  consent,  she  will  never, 
never  give  it.  That,  if  I  like  to  marry  him  without,  I 
may ;  and  that,  perhaps,  Philip  may  like  to  give  me 
away,  and  all  that ;  and  oh,  heaps  of  nonsense  about  Sir 
Philip  Dennistoun's  sister,  and  all  the  unheard-of  people 
I  might  marry ;  and  calling  him  a  gentleman  farmer — 
he  who  might  have  taken  a  double  first  at  Oxford,  and 
did  come  out  first  in  classics — and  a  year  ago,  Irene,  it 
would  have  been  thought  a  grand  thing  for  me.  Oh, 
Irene,  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do." 

It  was  the  old,  old  story.  Too  vehement  and  marked 
an  opposition  had  set  the  force  of  the  current  strong  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  at  Philip,"  she  went  on  ;  "  he  is 
sure  to  be  wise  and  kind.  I  can  trust  Philip ;  wouldn't 
you,  Irene  1" 

"  Yes ;  and  all  may  yet  go  well,"  Irene  said,  tenderly. 
"  Sit  down,  poor  child;  you  will  make  yourself  ill." 

"I  feel  ill,"  said  poor  Rosie.  "My  head  has  been 
aching  all  day,  and  I  have  got  a  horrid  pricking  in  my 
throat.  Oh,  Irene,  I  have  been  so  happy  !  why  should  I 
be  made  miserable  by  mamma  1  and  all  because  a  man 
a  thousand  times  too  good  for  me,  loves  me ;  and  has 
loved  me,  he  says,  for  years — ever  since  I  was  thirteen. 
Only  think  of  that." 

A  smile — almost  her  own  sunny  smile — broke  over 
Rosie's  tear-stained  face  as  Irene  made  her  lie  back  in 
her  comfortable  chair,  and  bathed  her  forehead  with  Eau 
de  Cologne. 


AN  OLD  FRIEXD  APPEARS.  159 

"What  would  you  do,"  Rosie  asked,  presently,  "if 
you  were  in  my  place  ?  You  couldn't  unlove  anyone 
because  you  were  told." 

"  No,"  Irene  said,  "  I  could  not  unlove.  I  should  love 
on  the  same ;  but  I  could  never  have  married  anyone 
against  my  mother's  will." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  had  plenty  of  opportunities  of 
being  married,  though  you  are  twenty-four  and  are 
engaged  to  no  one  ? " 

"Yes,  I  might  have  married,"  Irene  answered  ;  "but 
I  don't  know  that  I  ever  really  loved  any  one  in  the 
sense  you  mean  ;  certainly  no  one  who  has  loved  me  ! " 

"  How  funny,"  said  Rosie.  "  Oh,  my  head  aches  so 
dreadfully." 

"  You  had  better  go  to  bed,  Rosie.  Let  me  come  to 
your  room,  and  help  you  ;  shall  II" 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  it,  only  that  tiresome  Evans  is  hang- 
ing about  there.  My  hair  has  not  been  brushed  yet,  and 
I  shall  so  hate  her  seeing  how  red  my  eyes  are.  I  will  go 
and  send  her  away,  and  then  will  you  come  ? " 

"Very  well,"  said  Irene ;  "I  will  come  if  you  wish." 

"  Come  in  ten  minutes,"  Rosie  said,  as  she  left  the 
room  ;  "  and  be  quiet,  because  I  don't  want  mamma  to 
hear  us." 

When  Irene  went  to  Rosie,  she  found  her  in  a  fresh 
burst  of  crying,  which  was  so  violent  as  to  be  almost 
hysterical.  A  few  gentle,  firm  words  were  effectual, 
however,  and  the  poor  child  lay  down  in  her  bed,  saying, — 

"  I'll  try  to  be  quiet.  Please  say  my  prayers  for  me  ; 
and  then  would  you  sleep  with  me  1  " 

Irene  did  as  she  was  asked,  and  afterwards  lay  down 
by  Rosie ;  but  she  tossed  and  turned  from  side  to  side  all 
night.  The  only  thing  that  quieted  her  was  to  hold 


160  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

Irene's  hand  in  hers.  As  morning  dawned,  she  fell  into 
a  troubled  uneasy  sleep;  and  at  eight  o'clock,  when 
Evans  appeared  with  a  cup  of  tea,  according  to  custom, 
she  started  up  in  terror,  and  said  she  had  had  such  horrid 
dreams.  Irene  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  her  flushed 
face  and  general  appearance;  and  when  she  sipped  the 
tea,  she  said  her  throat  was  so  sore  she  could  not  swallow 
it.  Then  she  made  an  effort  to  get  up  and  dress;  and 
Irene  left  her  to  Evans'  care,  and  went  to  her  own  room 
to  prepare  for  breakfast.  She  had  not  been  there  more 
than  five  minutes,  when  Evans  came  to  the  door,  and  said, 
"  Miss  Dennistoun  is  very  faint ;  will  you  come  back, 
Miss  Clifford?" 

Irene  obeyed ;  and  found  that  Evans  had  summoned 
Mrs.  Dennistoun,  who  had  ordered  Rosie  to  return  to 
her  bed ;  and  was,  when  Irene  went  into  the  room,  sit- 
ting at  the  table,  with  the  pen  in  her  hand,  writing  a 
note  to  ask  Dr.  Simpson  to  come  to  Rockdeane. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LIGHT  AND  SHADE. 


"  GOD'S  fashion  is  another ;  day  by  day 
And  year  by  year  He  tarrieth  ;  little  need 
The  Lord  should  hasten  ;  whom  He  loves  the  most 
He  seeks  not  oftenest,  nor  wooes  him  long ; 
But  by  denial  quickens  his  desire, 
And  in  forgetting  best  remembers  him  ; 
Till  that  man's  heart  grows  humble,  and  reaches  out 
To  the  least  glimmer  of  the  feet  of  God, 
Grass  on  the  mountain  tops,  or  the  early  note 
Of  wild  birds  in  the  hush  before  the  day, — 
Wherever  sweetly  in  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
Are  fragments  of  a  peace  that  knows  not  man." 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS,  from  "ST.  JOHN." 

DK.  SIMPSON  came  with  all  speed  to  Rockdeane  to  answer 
Mrs.  Dennistoun's  summons.  He  prescribed  for  Kosie ; 
was  rather  hazy  and  vague  in  his  opinion  of  her ;  and 
gently  hinted  that  an  infantile  disease  might  be  impend- 
ing. 

"What  do  you  apprehend,  Dr.  Simpson  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Dennistoun.  "  Kosie  and  Jasper  have  both  had  measles." 

"  Yes  ;  well,  we  must  not  look  forward  too  anxiously. 
These  feverish  symptoms  may  be  the  result  of  exposure 
in  the  hot  sun,  yesterday,  which  is  unusually  hot  for 
the  time  of  year." 

H 


162  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  imprudent  pic-nic  to  Derwent- 
•water,  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  is  the  cause  of  Rosie 's 
illness,  Philip  !"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  said,  as  she  went  to 
the  library  to  communicate  the  result  of  Dr.  Simpson's 
visit. . 

"  Really  ! "  said  Sir  Philip  ;  "  does  the  old  Esculapius 
say  as  much  ?  If  you  have  got  him  to  give  you  a  direct 
answer  to  a  question  you  have  been  very  clever ;  but  I 
hope  there  is  not  much  amiss  with  the  poor  child." 

"  She  is  very  feverish  and  excited.  This  most  foolish 
fancy  she  has  taken  about  Mr.  Sandford  is  really  most 
trying.  She  is  too  young  to  think  of  marriage,  and  she 
has  seen  nothing  of  the  world;  moreover  I  do  not 
wish  to  encourage  Mr.  Sandford." 

"  Have  you  told  him  so  ?  "  Philip  asked. 

"  I  have  not  had  the  opportunity  ;  I  wish  you  would 
prepare  him  for  my  determination.  It  will  make  it  so 
much  easier  for  me." 

"  He  seems  to  have  made  his  own  cause  good  with 
Rosie,"  Philip  said  ;  "  and  really,  though  I  agree  with 
you  about  her  youth  being  an  objection ;  and  also 
concede  that  she  has  seen  little  or  nothing  of  the  world  ; 
still,  I  do  not  think  Sandford  is  the  man  to  repulse 
without  sufficient  reason." 

"  Well ;  at  any  rate,  you  are  going  away  with  him 
to-day,  "said  Mrs.  Dennistoun,  "  for  a  walking  expedition, 
and  if  you  bring  him  back " 

"  I  must  know  your  mind  decidedly  before  I  do  bring 
him  back,"  said  Sir  Philip,  in  that  resolute  tone  of  his ; 
"  there  must  be  no  playing  fast  and  loose  with  a  man 
like  him  " 

"  You  are  a  warm  firm  friend,  Philip,  every  one  knows. 
Well ;  we  will  see  how  Rosie  gets  on.  J  have  left  Miss 


LIGHT   AND   SHADE.  1C3 

Clifford  with  her.  She  seems  to  have  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  her ;  it  is  quite  extraordinary.  But  first,  Philip,  will 
you  just  go  over  the  names  with  me  for  the  dinner  on  the 
2nd,  that  you  wish  to  give  1  I  sent  out  some  of  the 
invitations  yesterday,  before  we  started ;  but  I  think  it 
better  to  ask  you  about  them.  There  are  the  Williamsons, 
you  would  not  wish  them  to  meet  the  Bishop  and  Lady 
Catharine  ;  and  then  there  are  the  Lamberts,  I  don't 
think  the  Tilletts  would  like  to  meet  them.  We  have 
not  seen  them  at  a  single  dinner  ;  certainly  at  none  of 
the  Canon's  houses,  nor " 

"  They  are  very  nice  people,  nevertheless,"  said  Sif 
Philip,  quietly ;  "  it  will  be  all  the  greater  novelty  for 
them  to  be  met  here." 

"  But,  dear  Philip,  I  think  as  we  are  new  in  the 
neighbourhood  we  must  be  careful  not  to  make  mistakes, 
social  mistakes,  which  may  hurt  people's  feelings,  or  give 
offence.  Dinners  are  so  different  to  garden  parties,  or, 
indeed,  to  any  large  party.  Then  there  is  Mr.  Frere  j  he 
is  only  the  incumbent  of  a  small  church." 

"  I  wish  the  list  to  stand  as  I  wrote  it  out,"  said 
Philip ;  and  again  Mrs.  Dennistoun  felt  there  was  no 
appeal.  "It  is  perfectly  ridiculous  to  run  in  narrow 
grooves  in  these  matters.  I  will  never  do  it,  if  I  can 
help  it ;  but  if  Eosie  is  going  to  be  ill,  the  dinner  party 
•will  vanish  into  thin  air,  and  this  meeting  of  incongruous 
elements  must  be  postponed,  sine  die." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  not,  indeed,"  was  Mrs.  Dennistoun 's 
reply,  as  she  left  the  room. 

After    luncheon,     Sir   Philip   and    George    Sandford 

started   on   their  walking   expedition,    intending   to  be 

absent  for  two  or  three  days.     Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  first 

to   encounter  what  she   dreaded, — the  open  avowal  of 

M  2 


164  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

Mr.  Sandford's  love  for  Rosie.  She  was  less  vehement 
in  her  opposition  than  she  had  been  with  Roaie  herself ; 
and  indeed  temporized,  and  talked  so  much  about  dear  Sir 
Philip's  wishes,  that  the  good  fellow  shouldered  his 
knapsack  with  a  light  heart,  though  Rosie's  illness,  and 
not  being  able  to  see  her  again,  was  a  great  blank.  But 
he  thankfully  accepted  Sir  Philip's  comfort,  "  Never 
mind,  old  fellow,  you  must  come  back  again  on  Saturday  ; 
and  Rosie  will  be  all  right  then." 

But  Rosie  was  not  all  right  on  Saturday.  Sir  Philip 
had  left  no  directions  for  his  letters  to  be  sent  on  to  him  ; 
indeed,  for  two  days,  it  was  delightful  to  him  to  be  free 
to  wander  with  his  friend,  over  hill  and  dale,  as  of  old, 
amongst  glaciers  and  snow  mountains.  It  was  pleasant  to 
forget  the  new  life  for  a  short  time  ;  and  he  and  his  com- 
panion were  sorry  to  set  their  faces  homewards  on 
Saturday  morning.  Sir  Philip  had  had  no  communication 
with  Rockdeane  since  he  left  it ;  and  when  he  and  George 
Sandford  drove  up  to  the  door  in  a  cab,  about  two  o'clock, 
and  passed  under  the  outspread  wings  of  the  old  eagle, 
there  was  a  stillness  in  the  house,  which  reminded  him  of 
the  evening  when  he  had  first  crossed  the  threshold.  Old 
Forrest  appeared,  when  he  heard  the  arrival,  and  said  to 
Sir  Philip,  with  a  grave  face  : — 

"  Miss  Dennistoun  is  veiy  ill,  Sir  Philip  ;  it  is  scarlet 
fever." 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Dennistoun  ? "  Sir  Philip  asked. 

"  Well,  sir,  Mrs.  Dennistoun  is  very  much  alarmed 
about  Mr.  Jasper,  and  she  has  taken  him  away  this 
morning  to  Keswick." 

"  And  who  is  with  Miss  Dennistoun  ? " 

He  had  scarcely  asked  the  question,  when  a  small 
figure,  he  knew  well,  came  lightly  down  the  wide  staircase. 
Pausing  half  way,  Irene  said  : — 


LIGHT   AND   SHADE.  165 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  speak  to  me  ?  Perhaps,  we  had 
better  talk  at  this  distance." 

"  Come  into  the  drawing-room,  please,"  was  Philip's 
answer.  "Afraid!"  he  repeated;  "what  should  I  be 
afraid  of?" 

"  Scarlet  fever  is  very  infectious,"  Irene  said ;  "  but 
I  take  all  reasonable  precautions."  Then,  catching  sight 
of  Mr.  Sandford's  anxious  distressed  face,  she  turned  to 
him,  and  said,  "  Rosie  is  very  ill,  but  not  dangerously  ill ; 
she  will  soon  be  better,  I  trust." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  George  Sandford,  warmly,  as  if  her 
assurance  were  an  immense  relief;  "and  who  is  taking 
care  of  her,  if  Mrs.  Dennistoun  is  gone  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Irene,  simply.  "  We  have  a  nurse  from 
the  Nursing  Institute  at  Rodham ;  but  I  am  always 
with  Rosie." 

"  It  ought  not  to  have  been  allowed ;  it  ought  not  to 
have  been  thought  of  for  an  instant,"  said  Sir  Philip, 
eagerly.  "  Have  you  ever  had  the  scarlet  fever  1 " 

"  Oh  !  no  ;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  am 
very  glad  to  stay  with  Rosie,  especially " 

She  stopped  ;  and  George  Sandford  continued  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  hall.  Then  Sir  Philip  said,  leading  the  way 
to  the  drawing-room,  "  Let  me  hear  all  about  it,  please." 

He  shut  the  door,  gave  her  a  chair,  and  repeated, 
"  Let  me  know  all  about  it.  How  is  it  you  are  left  here  1  " 

He  looked  so  stern,  and  almost  angry,  that  Irene 
hastened  to  answer  : — "  One  very  good  reason  is,  that 
my  sister,  Mrs.  "Williamson,  is  afraid  to  have  me  back 
into  her  house,  lest  I  should  carry  infection  to  the  chil- 
dren. I  was  going  home  yesterday  morning,  when 
Dr.  Simpson  first  pronounced  Rosie's  illness  to  be  scarlet 
fever.  But  Forster  came,  in  answer  to  my  note,  to  say 


1G6  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

that  Mary  was  too  terribly  frightened  to  see  me.  It 
would  be  a  serious  matter  to  take  it  to  Cuthbert, 
certainly." 

"  Yes ;  there  is  some  reason  in  this,"  said  Sir  Philip  ; 
but  how  is  it  you  did  not  go  with  Mrs.  Dennistoun  and 
Jasper?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  them  since  the  night  before  last ;  as 
I  had  been  with  Rosie  throughout,  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
was  naturally  afraid  of  me." 

"  Unnaturally,"  Philip  murmured  between  his  set 
teeth. 

"  I  had  a  very  kind  note  from  her,"  Irene  said;  "  you 
must  make  every  allowance  for  the  fear  of  infection ;  and 
Jasper  is,  of  course,  Mrs.  Dennistoun 's  first  thought.  He 
is  a  very  delicate  boy ;  and  indeed  I  think  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
was  much  to  be  sympathized  with.  Dread  of  infection 
must  be  so  difficult  to  fight  against." 

"  You  do  not  speak  from  experience,  evidently,"  Sir 
Philip  said. 

"  No ;  I  could  not  feel  afraid  when  a  thing  came  to  me 
as  this  did.  It  is  quite  different  if  we  run  into  danger 
wilfully.  I  think  I  had  better  go  back  to  Rosie  now. 
Mrs.  Mason  has  been  so  kind  as  to  send  up  all  I  want  to 
Rosie' s  little  sitting-room.  So  I  may  not  see  you  again ; 
good-bye." 

Before  Sir  Philip  could  reply,  she  was  gone ;  only  paus- 
ing in  the  hall  to  say,  as  she  passed  George  Sandford,  who 
was  lying  back  full-length  in  one  of  the  wide  old-fashioned 
chairs,  "  I  think  and  hope  all  will  go  well  with  Rosie ; 
perhaps  you  and  Sir  Philip  had  better  set  off  on  another 
walking  tour ;  "  and  then  with  a  smile,  her  rare  sweet 
smile,  she  went  lightly  up  the  staircase,  and  vanished, 
just  as  Sir  Philip  rejoined  his  friend. 


LIGHT   AND    SHADE.  167 

"  She  is  the  angel  of  this  house  now,  and  no  mis- 
take," said  George  Sandford.  "  What  is  to  be  the  next 
move?" 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know ;  it  is  an  awkward  position." 

"  I  almost  think,  Philip,  we  had  better  take  her 
advice,"  said  George  Sandford,  "and  set  out  on  the 
tramp  again.  I  hardly  think  I  should  like  to  go  beyond 
reach,  till  I  know  how  your  sister  is.  That  is,  if  you 
are  not  quite  tired  of  me." 

"  I  must  look  at  my  letters  first,"  said  Sir  Philip,  "for 
I  believe  I  have  a  dinner  coming  off  at  the  Bishop's 
to-night.  I  have  a  vague  idea  that  it  is  so  j  but  I 
must  consult  my  book  first.  Anyhow,  Sandford,  you 
can  stay,  the  house  is  big  enough ;  and,  if  we  keep  in  the 
left  wing,  I  don't  think  any  harm  can  come  of  it." 

"  I  think  I  should  get  restless,  Philip ;  I  would  rather 
walk  it  off.  Hallo  !  here  is  an  arrival." 

"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  returned,  perhaps  ;  but  I  hardly 
think  so  either.  It  is  another  Rodham  cab  from  the 
station;"  for  the  hall  door  stood  wide  open,  and,  as  the 
cab  stopped,  a  shrill  treble  voice  was  heard — "  Sir 
Philip  ! " 

"  What  on  earth  brings  you  here,  Mrs.  Henderson," 
was  Philip's  greeting,  as  the  steps  were  let  down,  and  a 
brisk  little  lady,  with  a  handkerchief  held  to  her  mouth, 
which  instantly  conveyed  the  mixed  aroma  of  camphor 
and  disinfectants  generally,  descended  nimbly  from  the  cab, 
handed  half-a-crown  to  the  footman,  and  bid  him  pay  the 
fare,  on  which  she  had  agreed,  and  see  that  her  boxes 
were  taken  upstairs.  "  What  brings  you  here  ? " 

•'Why,  your  stepmother's  order,  of  course.  She  has 
never  positively  fixed  a  time  for  a  visit  j  but  this  morning  I 
received  a  letter,  intreating  me,  with  a  great  many  pretty 


168  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

expressions  of  love,  and  so  forth — which  I  take  for  what 
they  are  worth — to  come  off  here  at  once  ;  to  play  pro- 
priety, as  I  understand  it,  to  two  young  ladies  left  alone 
in  Rockdeane,  with  two  young  gentlemen,  it  seems, 
which  is  not  the  thing,  you  see.  But  when  mothers 
have  only  sons  to  consider,  why,  only  daughters  and  their 
friends  sink  into  insignificance.  I  know  your  mother, 
well,  Sir  Philip  ;  and,  as  I  rather  wanted  to  see  this 
place,  I  came  off"  from  Worcester  by  the  ten  o'clock  train, 
to  stay  and  make  myself  at  home  as  long  as  I  am  wanted. 
Rosie  has  a  nurse  and  a  devoted  friend  with  her,  I  hear ; 
and  I  shall  only  look  in  now  and  then." 

Mrs.  Mason  had  by  this  time  arrived  on  the  scene 
of  action ;  and  Mrs.  Henderson's  volubility  received 
a  momentary  check.  Sir  Philip,  who  had  been  chafing 
under  the  scarcely  repressed  mirth  of  the  servants,  as 
they  stood  awaiting  his  orders,  was  really  relieved  to  see 
the  housekeeper. 

"  Mrs.  Mason,"  he  said,  "  this  lady  is  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun's  aunt.  She  has  kindly  come  to  superintend  the 
nursing." 

"  Nonsense,  Sir  Philip;  I  am  come  simply  to  play 
duenna.  I  want  a  bedroom  not  too  near  the  fever,  please ; 
and,  perhaps,  I  may  beg  the  favour  of  dinner  or  lun- 
theon.  What  a  huge  place  this  is.  More  like  a  castle 
than  a  house ;  and  that  ferocious  old  stone  eagle  over  the 
door  quite  appalled  me  as  I  drove  up.  I  see  there  is 
another  over  that  stand — nothing  but  eagles.  Now,  shall 
I  follow  you  1 "  she  continued  to  Mrs.  Mason,  whose  thick 
black  silk  stood  out  in  grand  contrast  to  the  thin,  grey  al- 
paca dress  of  the  little  spinster,  who  moved  as  if  on  wires, 
and  had  all  the  fluttering,  restless  movement  of  a  bird. 

"  You  do  not  introduce  me  to  your  friend,  Sir  Philip," 


LIGHT    AND   SHADE.  169 

said  Mrs.  Henderson,  as  she  passed  George  Sandford ;  "but 
I  think  I  have  seen  him  at  Codrington  Villas.  Ah  ! 
that  was  before  we  passed  under  spread-eagles  when  we 
entered  our  house  ! " 

"What  a  ridiculous  old  person,"  exclaimed  Sir  Philip, 
when  Mrs.  Henderson  was  out  of  hearing.  "  Of  all 
women  in  the  world,  I  think  Mrs.  Dennistoun  is  the  one 
for  expedients.  The  bare  idea  of  rushing  off  at  a  tangent 
from  the  scarlet-fever,  and  sending  for  this  antique  aunt 
of  hers,  to  make  believe  she  was  to  share  the  burden 
left  on  Miss  Clifford's  shoulders !  But,  I  must  go  now,  and 
look  after  my  letters  ;  I  shall  find  an  accumulation,  I  am 
afraid.  I  forgot  luncheon,  Sandford,  let  us  go  into  the 
dining-room  first,  and  discuss  ours,  before  that  little  old 
lady  appears  upon  the  scene." 

But  George  Sandford  was  not  hungry ;  and,  ill  at  ease, 
he  swallowed  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  then  rose,  apparently 
having  made  up  his  mind. 

"  Well,  I  am  off,  Philip,"  he  said  ;  "  I  shall  be  in  the 
way  here  ;  I  will  look  in  again  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
hear  how  things  are  going  on.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  must 
walk ;  like  the  man  with  the  cork  leg — eh  1  " 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  old  fellow,"  said  Sir  Philip ;  "  the 
Rose  will  come  out  freshly  again,  after  this.  I  have  no 
fears  about  her  ;  and  I  will  settle  matters  for  you  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  much  more 
difficulty  with  Mrs.  Dennistoun." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  hope  you  are  right.  I  shall  only  take 
this,"  said  George,  shouldering  his  knapsack.  "I  will 
leave  my  traps  here  as  a  hostage ;  and  now  I  am  off. 
Perhaps  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  the  scarlet-fever,  too," 
he  said,  as  he  was  walking  away.  "  It  looks  rather  like 


170  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

it ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  think  the  best  thing  I  could 
do  would  be  to  catch  it." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Philip ;  "  but,  if  you  feel  any  symptoms 
approaching,  you  can  come  back,  you  know,  and  we 
will  instal  Mrs.  Henderson  as  your  head  nurse." 

George  Sandford  gave  a  significant  shrug  of  his  shoul- 
ders ;  and  Sir  Philip  retired  to  his  study. 

There  was,  as  he  expected,  a  large  pile  of  letters.  One 
from  Mrs.  Dennistoun  lay  on  the  top.  It  was  full  of 
superlative  adjectives,  and  those  emphatic  strokes  of  the 
pen  against  which  Irene  had  inveighed  to  her  sister. 

She  had  really  been  greatly  distressed,  and  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  what  to  do  with  Jasper.  She  had 
nowhere  to  send  him ;  for  he  repudiated  the  idea  of  going 
to  Worcester,  to  her  aunt,  Sophia  Henderson.  So  she 
had  thought  it  best  to  take  him  away.  Miss  Clifford  had 
promised  to  send  her  a  bulletin  of  her  darling  Rosie 
twice  a  day ;  for,  if  letters  were  passed  through  disin- 
fectants, it  was  safe.  Mrs.  Dennistoun  begged  Philip 
not  to  expose  himself  to  infection  ;  and  reminded  him  of 
his  engagement  to  dine  and  sleep  at  Bishop's  Court  that 
evening.  She  had  herself  written  to  put  off  the  dinner 
for  the  2nd,  and  several  other  engagements  which  were 
falling  due. 

Sir  Philip  could  scarcely  repress  an  exclamation  of 
impatience  as  he  read  this  letter.  It  bore  upon  it 
the  impress  of  the  writer,  as,  perhaps,  most  letters  do. 
Next  came  a  thick  cream-coloured  envelope,  with  a 
pretty  cypher,  with  scent  about  it  just  enough  to  be 
agreeable,  but  not  intrusive.  The  writing  was  bold  and 
decided,  and  was  Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant's.  She 
began  by  saying  that  the  resignation  of  the  Member  for 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  171 

the  Eastern  Division  of  the  County  was  now  decided. 
Of  course  Sir  Philip  would  come  forward,  and  would 
most  probably  have  no  opposition.  Would  he  bring 
with  him  the  volume  of  Browning's  poems,  which  he 
had  promised ;  for  she  hoped  he  had  not  forgotten  that 
the  Bishop  and  Lady  Catharine  were  looking  to  him  for 
help  in  entertaining  a  party  of  dull  country  squires  on 
Saturday  evening — all  to  be  won  to  his  side  if  there 
should  be  an  opposition.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  a 
pleasant  note  to  read,  and  pleasant  writing  to  deci- 
pher— so  large  and  clear  ;  and  he  turned  it  over  several 
times,  and  read  and  re-read  it,  with  a  smile  hovering 
about  his  mouth. 

Then  he  applied  himself  to  the  other  letters.  Several 
of  them  bore  upon  the  same  subject — the  resignation  of 
Mr.  Seahurst,  and  the  desire  that  was  felt  by  many 
of  the  leading  representatives  of  the  more  Liberal  in- 
terest of  the  neighbourhood  that  Sir  Philip  would  lose  no 
time  in  coming  forward ;  and  Sir  Wilton  St.  John  had 
written  from  his  house  in  London,  expressing  his  willing- 
ness to  nominate  him,  if  he  desired  it. 

Something  in  Sir  Philip  responded  to  this  idea  of  taking 
his  seat  in  the  House.  He  felt  within  him  the  power  of 
thought ;  and  the  more  useful,  though,  perhaps,  scarcely 
greater  power  of  expressing  his  thoughts  well.  There 
was  in  him  nothing  of  the  wild,  impetuous  fever  of  many 
youthful  spirits  of  the  day,  who,  in  the  cry  for  some- 
thing new,  forget  or  ignore  that,  in  some  instances,  the 
old  is  better.  Nor  was  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  in  the  first 
excitement  of  early  manhood.  He  had  arrived  at  the 
maturity  of  four  and  thirty  years  ;  and  there  was  never 
in  him  any  undue  haste,  or  fiery  zeal,  though  he  had  un- 
failing energy,  and  an  indomitable  will,  when  the  need  arose. 


172  HEIGHTS    AND   VALLEYS. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  we  are  often  surprised  by 
a  failure  in  those  we  know,  at  the  very  point  where  we 
thought  them  so  strong.  Looking  back  into  the  far  past, 
it  has  been  ever  thus.  Since  the  days  when  the  brave, 
courageous  prophet,  who  had  defied  the  god  Baal  in  the 
face  of  all  his  fierce  followers,  and  had  stood  calm  in  the 
midst  of  the  surging  crowd — resolute  and  firm  ;  who  had 
not  been  afraid  to  lift  his  voice,  and  proclaim  the 
wrath  of  God,  to  that  unscrupulous  king,  who  held  all 
human  life  cheap,  when  it  lay  in  the  way  of  his  selfish- 
ness or  ambition ;  and  yet,  in  the  very  hour  of  victory, 
Elijah  could  go  to  the  God  of  Hosts  with  the  half 
querulous,  faint-hearted  cry — "  It  is  enough,  Lord  ;  take 
away  my  life  ;  for  I  am  not  better  than  my  fathers  ! " 
From  that  prophet  onward,  the  instances  are  numberless  ; 
of  the  bold,  lion-hearted  Peter  failing  as  a  coward  in 
the  hour  of  trial ;  of  St.  John,  the  loving  and  beloved, 
betrayed  into  vehemence  and  intolerance.  In  sacred 
and  profane  history  it  has  been  so,  and  in  everyday  life 
we  are  met  with  the  same  thing. 

Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  who  seemed  unlikely  to  be  swayed 
by  the  opposition  or  flattery  of  others,  was  undoubtedly 
much  pleased  by  the  interest  which  Lady  Eugenia  Le 
Marchant  showed  in  his  future.  He  almost  confessed  it 
to  himself,  that  an  evening  at  Bishop's  Court  was  full  of 
attraction ;  and  yet,  as  he  left  Rockdeane  and  walked  down 
into  Rodham,  having  left  orders  for  his  carriage  and  servant 
to  call  for  him  at  Ecclestone  Square,  he  could  not  re- 
press a  regretful  feeling  as  he  thought  of  his  bright  little 
sister  on  her  sick-bed,  and  the  sweet  gentle  presence  of 
Irene  ministering  to  her  with  no  selfish  fear  or  thought 
of  herself,  or  the  probability  of  her  taking  the  infection 
from  Rosie. 


LIGHT   AND   SHADE.  173 

Mr.  Williamson  was  alone  in  his  study  when  Sir 
Philip  arrived.  He  had  several  matters  of  business 
about  which  he  wanted  to  consult  him ;  and  then  he 
gave  him  the  letter  which  more  directly  bore  upon  the 
question  of  the  election  for  the  eastern  division  of  the 
county. 

"  I  shall  let  them  nominate  me,"  he  said.  "  Do  you 
think  there  will  be  much  opposition — or,  indeed,  any  ? 
Sir  Wilton  St.  John  seems  to  imply  that  I  shall  merely 
have  to  walk  over  the  ground." 

"  Most  probably  it  will  turn  out  so,"  Mr.  Williamson 
said  ;  "  and  I  think  you  are  the  man  to  blow  the  trumpet 
in  the  House  with  no  uncertain  sound." 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  that  I  have  the  chance.  Well ;  I 
must  put  this  in  your  hands.  I  am  going  to  dine  at 
Bishop's  Court  to-night,  and  I  daresay  I  shall  hear  plenty 
of  politics  talked  there.  And  now  to  turn  to  matters 
domestic.  This  is  very  unfortunate  about  my  poor  little 
sister,  people  are  as  afraid  of  scarlet  fever  as  if  it  were 
the  plague." 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sorry  about  Irene ;  but  Mary  was 
panic-struck,  and  I  did  not  like  to  press  the  point.  How- 
ever, Irene's  letter  sets  me  at  rest,  inasmuch  as  she  seems 
to  feel  herself  useful  to  Miss  Dennistoun.  She  is  useful 
wherever  she  is ;  really,  her  loss  in  our  house  is  felt  every- 
where— especially  by  poor  Cuthbert." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  upstairs  and  see  him.  I  suppose 
there  can  be  no  possible  danger  in  my  doing  so.  I  have 
not  seen  Rosie ;  and  Miss  Clifford  kept  at  a  very  respect- 
ful distance  from  me.  I  would  not  go  into  Rosie's  room 
purposely ;  you  are  not  afraid,"  he  said,  as  Mr.  Wil- 
liamson seemed  to  hesitate. 

"No,  not  in  the  least ;  nor  do  I  suppose  my  wife  could 


174  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

think  there  was  any  risk,  if  you  are  so  good  as  to  wish  to  see 
poor  Cuthbert.  I  was  only  going  to  tell  you  that  the  mail  is 
in ;  and  I  have  had  no  acknowledgment  from  New  Zea- 
land for  that  legacy  of  £10,000,  which  I  transmitted  in 
October.  I  have  been  looking  over  Mr.  Balfour's  books, 
and  I  see  the  allowance  which  was  made,  regularly  en- 
tered. Look,  here  is  one  entry  ;"  and  Mr.  Williamson  took 
from  his  desk  a  book,  and,  passing  his  finger  down  the 
page,  stopped  now  and  then,  and  read  :  "  Transmission  of 
£250  to  S.  D.  C. ;"  then,  "Acknowledgment  of  £250  by 
S.  D.  C.,  as  by  receipt — " 

"  Well ;  evidently  S.  D.  C.  is  not  so  grateful  for  the 
legacy  as  she  should  be — or  he  should  be.  I  suppose  you 
have  no  clue  to  this  mystery,  Williamson  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it  has  evidently  been  carefully  guarded.  But  I 
confess  I  think  it  is  a  little  odd  that  the  sum  of  £10,000 — 
a  considerable  sum — should  not  be  acknowledged." 

"  Perhaps  S.  D.  C.  expected  more,"  said  Sir  Philip, 
lightly ;  "  or,  perhaps,  she  is  gone  where  she  wants  no 
more  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence." 

"  In  that  case,  I  think  the  banker  at  Canterbury  would 
have  made  some  sign.  But  we  must  leave  the  dead  past 
to  bury  its  dead." 

A  message  coming  for  Mr.  Williamson  that  he  was 
wanted  at  his  office,  he  had  to  leave  Sir  Philip,  who  found 
his  way  into  the  drawing-room.  Cuthbert  was  lying 
quiet  and  unoccupied  on  his  sofa,  and  turned  his  eyes 
wearily  to  the  door,  as  Sir  Philip  opened  it. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  so  you  are  all 
alone." 

"  Mother  and  Randal  and  Hilda  are  out,"  Cuthbert 
said.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Sir  Philip  !  It  is  such 
an  enormous  time  since  you  were  here.  Do  you  know 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  175 

what  Auntie  is  going  to  do  1  Mother  would  not  let  her 
come  home — and,  oh  !  I  do  want  her  so — and  I  am  so 
afraid  she  should  catch  the  scarlet  fever." 

"  Your  aunt  is  very  well,"  Sir  Philip  answered,  as  the 
eyes,  so  like  Irene's,  were  turned  full  upon  him.  "  She  is 
taking  care  of  my  sister ;  but  I  do  not  think  she  will  get 
the  scarlet  fever,  for  she  is  not  in  the  least  bit  afraid  of 
it ;  and  that  has  so  much  to  do  with  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  but  Auntie  couldn't  be  afraid. 
She  wrote  me  a  little  note,"  he  went  on,  taking  a  crum- 
pled piece  of  paper  from  under  the  pillow,  which  had 
evidently  been  saturated  by  disinfectants,  for  the  writing 
had  a  blurred  and  blotted  look.  "She  is  sorry  not 
to  be  with  me,  but  glad  to  be  with  Rosie — Miss 
Dennistoun,  I  mean — and  she  says  she  has  a  lovely 
little  room  to  sit  in,  and  that  she  can  get  on  withher  story." 

"  Her  what  1 "  asked  Sir  Philip. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  Auntie  writes  lovely  stories ; 
and  the  money  she  gets  for  this  one,  was  to  have  taken 
her  and  me  to  Orchard  Leigh — the  village  where 
Grannie  and  she  lived— down  in  Devonshire  ;  and  papa 
and  mother  were  going  abroad — to  Switzerland,  I  think 
- — to  see  the  snow-mountains  that  you  used  to  tell  us  so 
many  things  about,  and  show  us  all  those  beautiful  pic- 
tures you  painted.  You  never  come  here  now,  and 
talk  about  them." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Sir  Philip,  evasively,  "I  have  to 
talk  about  things  which  are  not  half  so  pleasant :  but  I 
will  tell  you  a  story  now,  if  you  like." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  About  the  day  when  it  was  getting 
so  dark  on  the  mountains,  and  you  could  scarcely  see  the 
little  notches  you  cut  out  of  the  wall  of  ice  for  your  feet ; 
and  you  went  back  because  there  was  a  boy  who  was 


176  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

frightened,  and  you  tied  him  to  your  rope  ?  That  was 
the  story  Auntie  liked  best." 

Sir  Philip  told  it ;  and,  to  Cuthbert's  delight,  took  a 
pencil  and  some  paper  cut  of  his  little  drawing-case,  and 
illustrated  the  story  as  he  went  on.  All  too  soon  the 
wheels  of  the  carriage  were  heard,  and  Sir  Philip  had  to 
go.  Somehow  it  was  worth  a  great  deal  to  Philip,  when 
the  child  looked  up  at  him,  and  said, 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me.  Auntie  says  help 
is  sure  to  come  when  we  are  at  our  worst ;  and  I  was 
very  nearly  crying  like  a  baby  when  you  came  in ;  and 
now  I  feel  quite  jolly. 

Sir  Philip's  meeting  on  the  stairs  with  Mrs.  "Williamson 
rather  took  off  from  the  pleasure  which  Cuthbert's  grati- 
tude had  given  him. 

"  Run  tip,  Randal  and  Hilda  ;  don't  stop  a  moment. 
Oh,  Sir  Philip  !  I  am  always  so  charmed  to  see  you. 
But  have  you  been  near  Rockdeane  ?  I  am  so  terribly 
atraid  of  scarlet  fever  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  there  can  be  any  ground  for  your  fears. 
I  was  not  in  the  house  more  than  two  or  three  hours  ; 
and  I  only  saw  Miss  Clifford  for  ten  minutes." 

"  Oh  !  then,  I  am  quite  relieved.  I  can't  help  it,  Sir 
Philip  ;  I  am  a  perfect  coward  about  infection,  I 
know ;  Irene  often  puts  me  into  the  most  horrid  fright 
when  she  goes  into  those  dreadfully  low  parts  of  the 
town.  I  was  really  sorry  not  to  have  her  home ;  but 
what  could  I  do  with  these  children  ?  And  I  hear  Mrs. 
Dennistoun  is  so  alarmed  that  she  has  gone  to  Keswick 
with  your  brother." 

"  Yes  ;  and  an  aunt  of  hers  has  come  to  take  the  head 
of  the  establishment  in  her  absence.  I  am  going  to  dine 
and  sleep  at  Bishop's  Court,  I  think  the  carnage  is 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  177 

waiting,"  said  Sir  Philip.  "  I  will  look  in  to-morrow, 
on  my  return." 

"  Oh  !  that  will  be  very  nice,"  said  poor  Mrs.  William- 
son, whose  fear  of  offending  Sir  Philip  had  been  going 
through  a  sharp  struggle  with  her  dread  of  scarlet  fever. 
But  ought  you  to  return  to  Eockdeane  yourself  ?  Do 
be  careful." 

"  There  is  a  tradition  that  I  had  this  dreaded  scarlet 
fever  in  the  days  of  my  youth,"  said  Sir  Philip  ;  "  so  I 
am  invulnerable,  I  should  think.  Good-bye." 

He  was  in  his  carriage  the  next  moment,  and  driving 
out  to  Bishop's  Court ;  his  mind  full  of  many  things,  past, 
present,  and  to  come ;  but,  through  all  these,  there  was 
a  presence,  which  would  not  be  wholly  put  aside,  taking 
the  form  of  the  little,  quiet,  self-possessed  woman  who 
had  paused  half  way  down  the  wide,  antique  stair- 
case at  Rockdeane  that  morning,  and  had  asked,  "  Are 
you  afraid  to  speak  to  me  1  " 

There  is  no  doubt  that  simple,  truthful  souls  carry  with 
them  an  influence  in  the  most  trivial  things,  which  is  felt 
and  acknowledged  more  by  the  refreshment  of  their 
presence  in  this  false,  unreal,  hollow  world,  than  by  any 
actual  and  defined  impression  which  they  leave  upon  us. 

Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant  was  in  her  brightest  and 
most  attractive  mood  to-night.  The  Bishop  and  his  wife 
looked  at  her,  and  wondered  if  she  could  ever  be  the 
languid,  indolent  girl,  with  whose  real  and  fancied  illnesses 
and  ailments  they  were  often  so  oppressed. 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling,  her  cheeks  tinged  with  colour, 
and  her  conversation  bright  and  clever.  Lady  Catharine 
Weston,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  remarked  to  one 
of  her  friends  that  Eugenia  had  been  a  great  deal  stronger 

N 


178  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

lately ;  and  that  she  was  able  to  do  many  things  which,  a 
year  ago,  would  have  knocked  her  up. 

"  I  suspect,  my  dear  Lady  Catharine,"  said  the  good 
lady,  in  reply,  "  your  niece  only  wanted  an  object  in  life 
— an  interest,  I  mean." 

Then  Lady  Catharine  rose  on  the  defensive. 

"  Eugenia  has  never  wanted  interests,"  she  said  ;  "  she 
has  a  very  intellectual  and  refined  mind.  I  have  often 
felt  that  her  companions  here  have  not  been  such  as  she 
ought  to  have.  Old  people,  like  the  Bishop  and  myself, 
must  be  very  much  behind  her.  Education  for  women 
was  not  thought  so  much  of  in  my  young  days." 

"  No,  nor  in  mine,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  I  do  think 
young  people  were  taught  to  have  more  consideration  for 
others,  and  more  respect  to  their  elders  and  superiors  in 
age.  It  may  be  all  very  well  to  read  Dante  in  the  original, 
and  all  those  sort  of  books  ;  but  there  are  more  import- 
ant things,  in  my  judgment,  which  ought  to  go  before  all 
these.  I  am  an  old-fashioned  person,  my  dear  Lady 
Catharine  ;  and  I  understand  by  the  higher  education  of 
women  something  very  different  to  all  I  hear  talked  of 
now-a-days.  Lady  Eugenia  seems  to  have  found  some  one 
now  who  is  suited  to  her,"  the  old  lady  went  on,  glancing 
in  the  direction  of  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  who  was  lean- 
ing against  the  mullion  of  the  bay-window,  while  Lady 
Eugenia  sat  in  a  low  chair,  and  was  talking  eagerly,  as 
she  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  was  responding  with  a 
smile,  which  was  full  of  pleasure  and  interest 

"  Is  that  to  come  off,  Lady  Catharine  1 "  asked  another 
lady,  who,  in  spite  of  titles  and  lands,  and  an  enormous 
idea  of  her  own  importance,  was  a  long  way  from  being  a 
gentlewoman.  "  It  looks  like  it,  I  must  say  ;  and  I 


LIGHT  AND  SHADE.  179 

suppose  you  would  approve  it.  There  is  nothing  like  a 
little  interest  of  that  sort  for  young  ladies  who  are  in  the 
doctor's  hands  for  nerves ; "  and  a  disagreeable  laugh 
ended  the  sentence. 

Lady  Catharine  Weston,  though  rather  flurried  and 
put  out  by  her  guest's  plain  speaking,  had  plenty  of  real, 
simple  dignity  at  her  command. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  ever  right,"  she  said,  "Lady 
Brestyr,  to  make  a  jest  of  these  things.  Eugenia  is  much 
stronger;  and  the  Bishop  and  I  are  very  thankful  to 
notice  it.  Now,  will  you  come  into  the  conservatory,  I 
have  such  a  beautiful  new  Begonia,  which  the  gardener 
brought  in  to-day.  I  should  like  you  to  see  it." 

The  two  ladies  exchanged  significant  glances,  and 
followed  their  hostess.  As  they  passed  the  window, 
Lady  Catharine  paused  to  say, — 

"  Do  not  sit  too  long  by  the  open  window,  Genie  ;  it  is 
getting  damp.  For  a  heavy  dew  falls  after  these  hot  days 
of  early  summer,"  she  added,  to  her  companions. 

"  We  must  not  transgress,"  said  Sir  Philip,  as  Lady 
Catharine  passed  on.  "  Will  you  move,  or  shall  I  close  the 
window?" 

"  Oh,  neither;  thanks.  Aunt  Catharine  is  always  full  of 
little  crotchets  about  damp  and  dew,  and  such  like.  But, 
tell  me,  have  you  had  any  talk  with  that  old  man  with 
the  gray  moustache — old  Colonel  Hutchinson — he  would 
be  so  important  as  an  ally.  Do  make  up  to  him,  and 
be  civil,  and  sweet  if  you  can.  Get  him  upon  the 
Crimea ;  and  tell  him  you  have  heard  of  his  exploits  at 
Alma.  You  see  I  want  to  put  you  up  to  a  little  elec- 
tioneering. Then  there  is  that  rough-headed,  red-faced 
man,  who  sat  opposite  you  at  dinner,  Mr.  Westerby.  I 
made  Uncle  Richard  invite  him  to  night,  for  he  is  certain 
N  2 


180  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

to  be  a  warm  supporter.  Of  course  you  must  stroke  him  the 
right  way,  too.  Let  me  see — tell  him  you  have  heard  of  the 
extraordinary  success  he  had  on  the  Moor  last  August, 
and  of  the  number  of  grouse  he  bagged.  You  must, 
really,  get  round  him ;  for  this  man  they  are  talking  of 
bringing  forward  in  the  old  high  and  dry  Conservative 
interest,  is  a  relation  of  his.  He  is  to  sleep  here  to-night, 
so  you  must  watch  your  opportunity." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  so  an  fait  at  electioneering 
as  you  would  wish." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  try,"  she  said.  "  I  would  not  have 
you  defeated  for  anything.  When  we  come  to  London 
next  year  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  hear  your  speech  on 
the  new  Reform  Bill.  You  will  have  to  take  a  house  in 
London,  of  course,  and  bring  out  your  sister." 

"  My  poor  little  sister,"  Sir  Philip  raid  j  "  she  is  en- 
during all  the  miseries  of  scarlet  fever,  just  now.  I  have 
only  been  in  Rockdeane  for  a  short  time,  and  I  have  not 
seen  her  to-day,  so  I  cannot  bear  about  infection  with 
me,  or  I  should  not  have  come  here." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Lady  Eugenia ;  "  besides,  I  have 
had  the  scarlet  fever,  and  don't  mean  to  catch  it  from 
you.  Only  keep  your  own  counsel ;  don't  tell  the  dear  old 
people  ;  they  might  turn  nervous.  I  do  hope  your  sister 
will  soon  get  well.  She  is  so  pretty,  and  so  simple  and 
sweet ;  I  admire  her,  extremely.  Quite  a  Rose  without 
thorns.  I  also  have  taken  a  fancy  to  that  quiet  little 
Miss  Clifford,  your  lawyer's  niece." 

"  Sister-in-law,"  Sir  Philip  corrected. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  sister-in-law.  She  has  a  face  which  always 
reminds  me  of  some  of  the  saints  or  madonnas  one  sees 
in  the  foreign  galleries  ;  she  is  not  at  all  like  every-day 
people ;  and  her  manners  are  perfect  I  have  seen  her 


LIGHT   AND   SHADE.  181 

several  times  "when  those  pretentious  Rodham  bankers 
and  people  have  been  ignoring  her,  and  talking  big  and 
grand  at  her — not  to  her.  At  a  garden  party,  last  sum- 
mer, at  the  Homes',  before  you  came,  and  when  we 
thought  old  Sir  Jasper  was  the  only  possible  resident  at 
Rockdeane,  I  saw  a  most  delightful  scene  :  Mrs.  Tillett 
was  hanging  over  me,  and  talking  of  all  the  grand 
people  she  could  think  of,  while  Miss  Clifford  sat  by ; 
how  she  had  dined  here,  and  her  daughters  had  been  to 
luncheon  there ;  and  how  Sir  Wilton  St.  John's  daughter 
was  coming  to  stay  with  them,  for  she  and  Helen  were  such 
great  friends ;  and  how  these  little  garden  reunions  were 
very  nice  for  the  townspeople — the  Homes  were  so  good 
in  asking  every  one.  I  could  not  resist  it ;  the  wicked 
fit  seized  me,  and  I  turned  to  Miss  Clifford,  and  said, — 
'  How  kind  of  the  Homes  to'  ask  you  and  me  !'  She  saw 
the  joke  ;  and  such  a  smile  broke  over  her  face,  as  she 
answered, — '  Very  ;  but  I  do  not  know  many  people  here, 
and  I  am  rather  tired  of  it.'  You  should  have  seen  Mrs. 
Tillett  gather  up  her  dignity  as  she  murmured  something 
about  dear  Helen,  and  departed." 

So  Lady  Eugenia  talked  on  ;  and  Sir  Philip  lent  him- 
self to  the  fascination  of  her  voice  and  bright  sparkling 
manners.  There  was  a  want  of  rest  about  her,  it  was 
true ;  and  there  was  the  want  which  is  always  the  greatest 
when  it  is  felt  in  a  woman.  But  he  went  to  his  room 
that  night  thinking  over  much  she  had  said  :  her  in- 
terest in  him  and  his  success ;  her  evident  powers  of 
adaptation ;  and  her  keen  sense  of  humour.  He  was  more 
than  ever  set  upon  victory  at  the  election,  if  it  should 
come  to  a  contest,  and  the  relation  of  the  "rough-headed, 
red-faced  man  "  should  go  to  the  Poll. 


182  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Meanwhile,  the  same  bright  May  evening  dragged 
on  rather  slowly  at  Rockdeane.  Rosie  was  restless  and 
feverish,  her  throat  was  very  sore,  and — unaccustomed  to 
illness — she  really  believed  herself  to  be  worse  than  she 
actually  was.  Irene  made  the  sick-room  bright  with 
flowers,  and  showed  herself  in  all  her  gentle  ministry  > 
the  perfection  of  a  nurse.  The  Rodham  nurse  had  gone 
to  lie  down,  that  she  might  be  with  the  invalid  at  night  ; 
and  Mrs.  Henderson  contented  herself  with  putting  her 
head  in  at  the  door  once  or  twice,  and  saying.  "All 
going  on  well,  I  hope  V 

Mrs.  Mason  took  care  that  Miss  Clifford  had  the  best 
of  little  repasts  sent  up  to  Rosie's  sitting-room  ;  but  Mrs. 
Henderson  evidently  determined  to  make  the  most  of 
her  position  at  Rockdeane,  so  she  dined  in  state  by  herself 
in  the  dining-room,  and  expressed  to  Mrs.  Mason  her 
desire  to  keep  up  the  accustomed  habits  of  the  family ; 
thus  Irene  saw  very  little  of  her. 

The  next  day  she  sat  by  the  pleasant  window,  writing 
and  reading  when  Rosie  did  not  want  her ;  and  enjoyed 
the  sweet  calm  and  repose  of  the  country,  with  all  the 
zest  which  such  natures  whose  daily  life  is  necessarily 
passed  in  a  town,  and  to  whom  street  sights  and  sounds 
are  a  perpetual  jar,  can  alone  understand. 

"  It  is  Sunday,"  Rosie  said;  "won't  you  go  to  church? 
You  can  have  a  carriage,  you  know." 

"  No ;  I  shall  pass  my  Sunday  here,"  Irene  said. 
"  I  should  not  like  to  leave  you  for  so  long ;  and, 
moreover,  I  might  send  some  one  into  a  fit  of  hys- 
terics if  they  recognised  me  as  sitting  next  them  at  the 
Cathedral." 

"The  poor  old  Almshouse  people  will  have  to  do  without 


LIGHT   AND   SHADE.  183 

you  to-day,  then,  and  Mrs.  Bolton,  too.  Oh !  dear,  it 
seems  more  like  a  year  than  a  week  since  last  Sunday ; 
so  much  has  happened  to  me.  I  quite  expect  Philip  will 
stay  on  at  Bishop's  Court,  now  he  is  there;  and  I  wonder 
if  Mr.  Sandford  will  come  back.  I  wonder  if  he  oares  so 
very  much  about  me." 

"  I  am  sure  he  does,"  Irene  said.  "  I  have  had  a 
note  from  him  to-day,  written  from  some  little  village 
near  Grassmere ;  and  begging  me  to  tell  him  how  you 
go  on." 

"  And  have  you  answered  ?  Pray,  put  the  letter 
through  that  pink  stuff,  first,"  she  added  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  precautions ;  but 
try  to  be  still,  dear,  and  I  will  read  to  you." 

"  Irene,"  Rosie  said;  "  do  let  me  look  at  the  letter — 
his  letter." 

Irene  could  not  refuse  ;  but  poor  Rosie's  eyes  were  too 
weak  to  read  it,  and  she  had  to  return  it  to  Irene,  and 
said,  "  Do  read  it  to  me.  I  must  be  very  ill,  for  I  can't 
see ;  the  words  all  run  about." 

"The  letter  is  very  short,  dear;  only  a  few  words;" 
and  Irene  read  the  request  that  she  would  post  a  bulletin 
to  the  address  he  had  given.  "  Here  is  your  mother's, 
too,"  she  continued  ;  "  shall  I  read  that  ?" 

"  It  is  too  long,"  Rosie  murmured  wearily.  "  Poor 
mamma  !  but  it  hurts  me  to  talk,  Irene.  I  do  think  I 
am  very  ill.  Oh,  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  die. 
Would  you  be  frightened  if  you  were  like  me  1 " 

"  No,  Rosie,  I  think  not ;  and  I  hope  God  has  a  long  life 
of  work  for  Him  for  you  to  do  here  before  He  takes  you. 
Now,  I  shall  read ;  and  you  must  not  talk  any  more,  but 
have  some  lemonade,  and  try  to  go  to  sleep." 

Rosie  obeyed  ;  but  presently  turned  her  head  suddenly, 


184  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

— "  Irene,  do  you  think  my  hair  will  all  come  out  1  it 
will  be  so  horrid,  and  make  me  like  a  woolley-headed 
doll" 

Irene  could  not  help  laughing  ;  the  pathetic  and  the 
ludicrous  followed  so  closely  upon  each  other.  But  poor 
Rosie  could  not  join  in  it.  Indeed,  it  was  many  days 
before  either  she  or  Irene  laughed  again.  Her  fever 
ran  very  high ;  and  for  three  nights  she  was  delirious. 
Then,  on  the  fourth  day,  a  fresh  accession  of  trouble  came. 
Jasper  -sickened  with  the  fever;  and  his  mother,  dread- 
ing the  inconvenience  of  lodgings,  and  the  want  of  proper 
attention,  brought  him  home;  telegraphing  her  arrival  a 
few  hours  previously. 

It  was  wonderful  how  naturally  Irene  became  the 
general  superintendent  of  the  whole  nursing  staff.  Some- 
thing in  her  presence  seemed  to  soothe  all  the  sufferers  : 
and  the  wilful,  headstrong  boy,  his  mother's  especial  care, 
would  submit  to  no  authority  but  Irene's. 

A  servant  also  caught  the  fever :  and  the  west  wing 
of  Rockdeane  became  a  hospital.  Sir  Philip  did  not 
return  from  Bishop's  Court  till  the  end  of  the  week,  and 
then  was  obliged  to  submit  to  a  strict  quarantine. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  went  hither  and  thither,  with  cotton 
wool,  saturated  with  camphor,  held  to  her  mouth  and  nose ; 
and  sent  for  Dr.  Simpson,  and  the  surgeon  who  acted  under 
his  orders,  at  every  conceivable  hour  of  the  day  or  night. 
A  t  the  close  of  the  eighth  day  Rosie  began  to  mend  ;  but 
Jasper  had  many  bad  symptoms,  and  the  doctors  looked 
grave.  Irene  felt  the  most  sincere  sympathy  with  his 
mother,  whose  idol  he  was;  and  the  less  self-control  she 
testified,  the  greater  that  sympathy  became.  It  was 
after  a  trying  time  spent  in  Jasper's  room,  when  she  alone 
had  availed  to  persuade  him  to  allow  his  throat  to  be 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  185 

cauterized,  and  had  sat  with  him  afterwards  till  he  fell 
asleep,  that  Irene  put  on  her  hat,  and  went  out  into  the 
grounds. 

June  had  come  in  cold  and  wet ;  and  the  bright  May 
sunshine  seemed  to  have  hidden  itself  behind  dark  clouds 
and  a  leaden  sky.  Enveloped  in  her  waterproof,  Irene 
did  not  heed  the  misty  rain  ;  and  walked  briskly  herself 
tip  and  down  the  terrace.  The  strain  upon  her  had  been 
very  great  for  the  last  few  days,  and  she  felt  tired 
and  worn  out.  She  had  never  seen  Sir  Philip  since 
they  had  parted  in  the  dining-room  ten  days  before ; 
and  she  only  knew  from  Mrs.  Dennistoun  that  he  had 
returned  to  Rockdeane.  But  now,  when  he  came  up  to 
her,  and  said, — 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,  at  last,"  she  started 
back. 

"  I  think  you  had  much  better  not  speak  to  me ; 
please  do  not.  I  have  been  with  Jasper  a  long  time ; 
his  throat  is  very  bad — and — ." 

How  or  why  it  was,  she  never  knew,  but  suddenly 
the  overtaxed  strength  broke  down,  and  Irene  struggled 
in  vain  with  her  tears. 

"  Is  the  poor  boy  so  very  ill  ] "  Philip  asked.  "  I  must 
go  to  him.  It  is  really  folly,  and  apparent  cowardice, 
that  I  have  not  done  so  before." 

"  You  must  not — you  must  not,  indeed,"  Irene  ex- 
claimed, putting  out  her  hand  with  a  sudden  gesture ; 
and  then,  almost  instantly  recovering  herself,  she  said, 
"  Of  course,  if  you  think  it  right,  you  must  see  Jasper ; 
but  unless  we  can  be  of  use,  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to 
run  into  infection." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Sir  Philip  said  ;  and  immediately  it 
flashed  through  his  mind  how  Lady  Eugenia  had  made 


186  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

him  promise  not  to  go  near  the  fever ;  urging  as  a  reason, — 
"  If  people  get  hold  of  the  idea  that  you  have  been  in 
the  way  of  scarlet  fever,  you  won't  be  able  to  go  on  with 
the  election.  Every  one  will  be  afraid  to  let  you  into 
their  houses." 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  won't  run  the  risk  of  adding  to 
trouble,  though,  of  course,  I  have  not  the  least  fear.  You 
look  very  pale,  and  are  doing  too  much,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Oh  !  no ;  it  all  came  to  me  to  do;  and  therefore  I  feel 
sure  I  am  in  my  right  place.  The  chief  thing  that  weighs 
upon  me  is  about  Cuthberb.  I  know  he  misses  me,  and 
wants  me." 

"I  have  been  to  see  him  two  or  three  times,"  Sir 
Philip  said. 

"  How  very  good  and  kind  of  you,"  she  exclaimed ; 
"  tell  me  about  him." 

"  He  is  getting  on  pretty  well  Your  notes  seem  a 
great  comfort ;  but  the  child  has  given  up  keeping  them 
because  his  mother  was  so  afraid  of  their  being  under  his 
pillow." 

"  Dear  Cuthbert,"  she  replied,  with  that  touch  of 
tenderness  in  her  voice,  which,  when  she  spoke  of  him, 
always  made  Sir  Philip  think  how  she  could  love,  when 
once  the  depths  were  stirred.  "  Dear  Cuthbert !  if  you 
are  so  kind  as  to  go  and  see  him  again,  will  you  tell  him 
I  have  not  given  up  our  plan  about  Orchard  Leigh,  and 
that  I  do  not  intend  him  to  be  disappointed.  Give  him 
my  best  love,  and  tell  him  I  am  quite  well — that  is,  if 
you  really  go  to  see  him  again." 

"  I  quite  intend  to  do  so,  if  Mrs.  Williamson  will  let 
me ;  but  now  I  have  been  near  dangerous  people, 
I  don't  know  what  she  may  say.  I  am  obliged  to  see 
your  brother-in-law  very  often  just  now;  for  Mr.  Hardcastle 


LIGHT  AND   SHADE.  187 

is  coming  forward  after  all,  and  we  shall  have  a 
contest." 

"  A  contest !  "  she  repeated. 

"  For  the  representation  of  the  county  ;  you  know." 

"  Oh  !  yes ;  you  are  really  going  to  stand  then  1  " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so  ;  are  you  pleased,  or  not  ?  A  long 
time  ago  I  told  you  I  must  have  some  active  service. 
I  could  not  live  an  idle  life.  I  believe,  too,  I  shall  be 
able  to  do  more  in  this  way  than  any  other,  and  of  course, 
my  practice  at  the  Bar  is  in  my  favour." 

He  waited ;  but  Irene  did  not  speak.  How  different  to 
the  enthusiastic  interest  that  Lady  Eugenia  had  shown. 

Almost  as  if  reading  her  thoughts,  he  went  on  : — "  I 
shall  go  on  with  the  church ;  and  I  am  looking  after 
all  the  houses  in  the  hamlet.  Then,  I  don't  forget 
the  chapel ;  that  must  be  restored,  and  I  hope  to  get 
daily  prayer  there  for  the  old  people,  by  providing 
Mr.  Bolton  with  a  curate.  I  intend  to  stand  for  the 
Eastern  Division  ;  and  what  is  more,  I  intend  to  win 
the  seat,  and  shall  use  every  fair  and  honourable  means 
to  do  so.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  put  my  hand  to  any- 
thing yet  and  turned  back." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his — those  pure  unworldlike 
eyes — full  of  truth,  and  he  read  in  them  something  which 
puzzled  him.  He  waited,  thinking  she  would  speak ; 
but  she  did  not. 

"You  know  the  family  motto,"  he  went  on ;  "you 
must  have  read  it  often  enough  when  you  went  under 
the  old  gateway  of  Hildyard's  Almshouses,  before  you  saw 
it  over  the  door  yonder." 

"  Yes ;  '  Ad  Ccelum '  is  a  good  watch- word  for  us  all, 
when  taken  in  its  true  sense.  Those  who  mount  on  eagle's 
wings,  and  renew  their  strength,  have  to  do  something  else, 


188  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

too.  I  must  go  in  to  Rosie,  now;  she  is  getting  on  beauti- 
fully ;  and  is  a  very  good  patient." 

"  What  else  1 "  he  asked  himself,  as  Irene  disappeared. 

Then  there  came  to  him  an  echo  of  the  old  familiar 
words,  and  the  voice  within  seemed  to  whisper — "  Wait." 


CHAPTEU  IX 


M  THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS." 

"  How  should  I  not  remember  ? 

Is  dusk  of  day  forgetful ;  or  the  winter  of  the  sun  ? " 

F.  W.  H.  MYEBS. 

"  THIS,  too,  will  pass,"  the  proverb  of  some  old  king  of 
Persia,  which  he  ordered  to  be  written  up  in  every  room  in 
his  palace,  is  often  brought  home  to  us  in  our  daily  ex- 
perience. The  illness  which  seemed  so  interminable ;  the 
trouble  which  was  at  the  time  all  but  insupportable  ;  all 
phases  of  sorrow  and  distress ;  nay,  even  the  keenest 
pangs  of  grief  which  rend  bereaved  hearts,  pass ;  and 
we  find  ourselves  insensibly  but  surely  losing  the  very 
memory  of  the  past  in  the  present.  Doubtless,  some  scars 
are  left,  which  never  really  heal.  Doubtless,  though 
"  pain  and  grief  are  transitory  things,"  and  leave  us,  they 
do  not  always  leave  us  as  they  find  us.  "  But  this,  too, 
will  pass,"  may  be  written  on  every  circumstance  of  this 
mutable  and  perilous  life,  and  a  certain  amount  of  com- 
fort may  be  derived  from  it.  I  say  a  certain  amount, — 
for  full  comfort,  under  any  trial  and  any  sorrow,  comes 
from  a  source  from  which  the  Eastern  king  could  not 
draw  the  waters  of  consolation.  For,  if  the  Christian 
soul  can  feel  that  the  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away, 
bearing  with  it  all  its  sharpest  pains,  of  bodily  or  mental 


190  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

anguish,  as  well  as  all  its  fairest  and  dearest  hopes,  it  can 
feel,  too,  that  there  is  an  inheritance  which  fadeth  not — 
incorruptible  and  undefiled — reserved  in  Heaven  for 
those  who  are  kept  through  faith,  in  hope  of  the  glory 
which  shall  be  revealed. 

Long  as  was  Jasper  Dennistoun's  illness,  and  weary  as 
every  one  about  him  grew  of  the  irritable  convalescence — 
which  seemed  harder  to  his  nurses  than  the  illness  itself — 
it  came  to  an  end  at  last.  And  one  morning,  in  the  last 
week  of  June,  what  Rosie  called  the  hospital  ward  at 
Rockdeane  was  closed  ;  and  the  whole  party  left  it 
together,  for  the  final  purification  of  the  sea-air  at  Scar- 
borough. Irene  was  to  accompany  them  ;  for  not  one  of 
the  number  could  spare  her.  Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  grown 
to  rest  in  her  and  trust  her,  in  a  way  which  often  made 
Rosie  wonder ;  it  was  so  unlike  her  mother,  to  refuge 
herself  in  any  one.  Jasper  would  submit  to  her  when 
no  other  authority  availed  ;  and  little  Mi's.  Henderson 
declared  that,  of  all  the  young  women  of  the  present  day 
that  she  had  ever  met,  she  thought  Miss  Clifford  the 
most  "capable."  Mrs.  Henderson  often  used  that  ad- 
jective, without  the  noun  it  qualified,  and  seemed  to 
stretch  its  significance  to  any  limit. 

The  Rodham  world  had  not  dared  to  approach  Rock- 
deane ;  and  so,  for  many  weeks,  the  inhabitants  were  left 
without  any  attention  but  the  cards  of  inquiry,  which 
were  sent  by  servants,  and  seldom  delivered  in  person. 
"  It  is,  of  course,  quite  impossible  to  hold  any  communica- 
tion with  the  Dennistouns,"  people  said ;  and  there  were 
many  stories  circulated  of  the  mysterious  ways  in  which 
scarlet-fever  was  propagated — by  books,  by  letters,  by 
wearing  apparel,  by  every  conceivable  thing  which  existed. 
Those  who  were  the  most  eager  in  their  rehearsal  of 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  191 

these  terrible  stories  of  infection  were  those  who  were 
aggrieved  at  what  might  be  considered  want  of  proper 
attention  to  them ;  and  from  some  of  these  Irene 
Clifford  suffered  severely. 

"It  has  always  been  her  aim  to  ingratiate  herself 
with  the  Dennistouns ;  but  I  fear  she  will  be  bitterly 
disappointed,"  said  Margaret  Thornycroft  one  afternoon, 
at  a  croquet  party  at  the  Tilletts' ;  "  it  has  been  so 
transparent." 

"  What  has  been  so  transparent  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Preston, 
a  quiet  little  woman,  who  was  one  of  the  few  Rodham 
people  that  really  knew  Irene. 

"  Oh. !  did  you  not  know  what  a  dead  set  she  made  on 
Sir  Philip  at  one  time?  Indeed,  I  dare  say  she  has  not 
given  up  hopes  now  ;  but  she  will  have  to  do  it  soon,  for 
I  hear  that  he  is  really  engaged  to  Lady  Eugenia  Le 
Marchant ;  so  all  her  devotion  to  his  sister  and  brother 
will  be  thrown  away ;  though,  to  be  sure,  not  quite 
that,  for  she  has  gone  to  Scarborough  with  them;  and 
that  is  a  pleasant  change  in  this  hot  weather." 

"Miss  Thornycroft,"  said  the  little,  quiet  lady,  in 
reply  ;  "  Miss  Clifford's  stay  at  Rockdeane  was  scarcely 
optional.  Her  sister  was  naturally  afraid  to  receive  her, 
with,  her  own  young  children  in  the  house,  who  might 
be  liable  to  take  the  complaint ;  but  I  think  you  can 
hardly  be  aware  that  Miss  Clifford  has  been  the  most 
devoted  nurse  to  Miss  Dennistoun  and  the  boy,  and 
that  the  two  doctors  both  think  her  services  have  been 
invaluable." 

"  Dear  me,  Mrs.  Preston,  what  nonsense  !  A  paid 
nurse,  from  the  Nurses'  Institution,  has  been  at  Rock- 
deane all  these  weeks.  I  know  the  Lady  Superintendent 
very  well ;  and  she  told  us  so ;  did  she  not,  Mary  ?  " 


192  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

appealing  to  her  sister,  who  was  just  then  brought  near 
the  place  where  Mrs.  Preston  was  defending  Irene,  by  a 
sharp  croquet  from  her  adversary. 

"  Of  course  ;  but,  Margaret,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
let  that  poor  little  Miss  Clifford  alone.  Your  strictures 
may  be  misinterpreted.  I  shall  really  begin  to  stand  up  for 
Irene  Clifford ;  and  then  Mrs.  Preston,  I  know,  will  think 
the  better  of  me.  But,  after  all,  I  believe  Sir  Philip  is  in 
London,  and  Rockdeane  is  undergoing  a  purifying  pro- 
cess ;  so  that,  in  September,  it  may  be  ready  for  shooting 
guests,  and  all  the  entertainments  that  Sir  Philip  will 
have  to  give  to  his  constituents.  It  would  be  too  dreadful 
if  they  caught  the  scarlet-fever.  Now,  I  must  return 
that  croquet  with  interest ; "  and,  with  a  very  profes- 
sional swing  of  her  own  particular  mallet,  which  Miss 
Thornycroft  carried  with  her  to  every  party,  marked 
with  her  cypher  in  red  and  blue  letters,  she  certainly  re- 
turned the  croquet  in  grand  style,  and  hit  her  opponent 
at  an  almost  incredible  distance ;  thereby  eliciting  the 
applause  of  both  sides  of  the  game. 

"  Mary  can  play  croquet,  if  she  can  do  nothing  else," 
her  sister  said,  as  she  departed ;  "  it  is  a  good  thing  that 
we  all  find  something  in  which  we  excel."  And  then 
Margaret  Thornycroft  moved  towards  another  group 
of  people,  and  sowed  further  seeds  which  will  spring 
up  and  bear  fruit;  whether  for  good  or  evil,  let  those 
unoccupied  women,  who  spend  their  time  in  discussing 
the  imperfections  of  their  neighbours,  and  imputing  to 
them  motives  which  exist  only  in  their  own  brains, 
determine. 

It  was  not  till  the  beginning  of  August  that  Irene  re- 
tumed  to  her  brother-in-law's  house ;  soon  after  Sir  Philip 
Dennistoun  had  been  returned  for  the  Eastern  Division 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  193 

of  the  County,  with  such  a  large  majority,  that  Mr. 
Hardcastle  was  left  behind  on  the  day  of  the  polling  by 
some  hundreds  of  votes.  Irene  read  the  speeches  ia  the 
papers ;  and  heard  Forster  Williamson's  account  of  the 
favourable  impression  which  Sir  Philip  had  made  upon 
his  constituents  ;  and  one  morning,  as  she  was  returning 
from  a  visit  to  Mr.  Bolton's,  she  met  Sir  Philip,  just  as  she 
was  coming  out  from  under  the  gateway  of  Hildyard's 
Aluishouses.  He  was  walking  with  Sir  Wilton  St. 
John,  his  arm  linked  in  his.  He  raised  his  hat,  and 
smiled ;  and  then  suddenly  stopped,  and,  saying  to  his 
friend,  "  One  moment,"  he  turned,  and  overtook  Irene. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  since  the  election,"  he  said.  "  I 
hope  all  my  battles  may  be  as  easily  won  as  this  has 
been." 

The  colour  came  to  Irene's  face  ;  and  she  felt  a  con- 
gratulatory speech  was  expected  from  her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  were  successful,"  she  said,  in  her 
low,  sweet  voice.  "  I  liked  your  address  very  much  ;  it 
said  in  ten  lines  what  Mr.  Hardcastle  tried  to  say  in 
fifty." 

It  was  not  like  the  enthusiastic  reception  and  congratu- 
lation which  Lady  Eugenia  had  given  him  a  few  days 
before,  but  it  sounded — like  the  speaker, — true,  and 
simple,  and  real. 

"Thanks,"  he  replied;  "brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit, 
you  know.  Have  you  heard  from  Rosie  since  they  went 
to  Brighton  ? " 

"  Yes,  twice.  Jasper  seems  better,  and  will  be  well 
enough  to  go  to  Eton  after  the  vacation,  she  thinks." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  and  I  dare  say  you  know  that  Sandford 
is  put  on  a  year's  probation  by  the  powers  that  be  ;  and 
that  after  her  first  season  in  London,  if  Rosie  holds  firm, 

o 


194  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

he  is  to  have  her.  But  I  will  try  and  come  in  to- 
morrow, before  I  go  up  to  town,  and  discuss  matters 
further.  I  have  been  looking  up  the  grouse  the  last  few 
days,  or  you  would  have  seen  me  before.  Good-bye." 

He  shook  hands  with  her  warmly,  and  went  to  rejoin 
the  impatient  Sir  Wilton. 

"  Who  was  your  fair  friend,  Dennistoiin  ?  What 
would  the  Lady  Eugenia  say  ?  Don't  look  so  unsuspecting 
and  so  innocent ;  you  know  you  have  got  that  pretty 
little  piece  of  business  to  come  off  next.  Another  easy 
triumph,  I  suspect.  I  hope  there  is  not  another  com- 
petitor in  the  field,  in  the  person  of  that  little  lady  you 
have  just  parted  from,  with  so  much  reluctance.  Who  is 
she  1 " 

"  Miss  Clifford,"  answered  Sir  Philip,  shortly. 

"That  does  not  enlighten  me,  I  am  afraid.  Miss 
Clifford  !  What,  one  of  the  Lancashire  Cliffords  1  and 
they  were  a  good  old  Roman  Catholic  family." 

"  No.  I  am  not  learned  in  her  family  pedigree,"  said 
Sir  Philip.  "  She  is  the  sister-in-law  of  my  lawyer,  and 
friend,  Mr.  Williamson — Irene  Clifford.  Now,  are  you 
satisfied  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  was  the  rejoinder  ;  "  nor  do  I  think  the 
lady  at  Bishop's  Court  would  be.  But — revenons  ct 
nos  moutons — how  about  the  shooting  party  at  Rock- 
deane  1 " 

So  they  went  on  to  talk  of  many  other  things ;  and 
Irene's  name  was  not  again  mentioned.  The  next  day 
passed,  and  Sir  Philip  did  not  come  to  Ecclestone  Square. 
Flowers,  and  fruit,  and  a  brace  of  grouse,  were  brought 
in  the  evening,  addressed  to  Master  Cuthbert  William- 
son, but  that  was  all.  The  boy  stroked  the  birds,  and 
watched  Irene  as  she  arranged  the  flowers  in  the  vases, 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  195 

and  took  out  some  of  the  choicest  to  put  into  her  sister's 
hair,  who  was  dressing  for  a  party  upstairs. 

"  I  wish  he  had  come  instead  of  sending  all  these 
things,  Auntie,"  Cuthbert  said;  "I  would  rather  see 
him  than  the  flowers.  And  he  is  going  away  to-morrow, 
too.  Didn't  you  say  so,  Auntie  ]  " 

"  Yes,  dear ; "  and  there  was  something  very  like  a 
sigh  which  accompanied  the  words.  "  But  I  must  go  and 
look  after  Mamma  now,  and  put  these  flowers  in  her 
hair,  and  then  we  will  have  a  happy  time.  When 
Randal  has  done  his  lessons,  I  will  read  to  you." 

"  Your  las*  story ;  is  it  finished  1    Oh,  how  delightful ! " 

"It  is  not  only  finished  but  printed.  I  have  got  the 
proofs ;  and  perhaps  we  shall  go  tc  Orchard  Leigh  after 
all !  " 

"Auntie  !" 

She  ran  away  smiling,  and  saying  "  we  shall  see  " — 
her  hands  full  of  flowers  and  ferns — and  tapped  at  her 
sister's  door. 

"  Come  in.  Oh,  Irene,  I  am  glad  it  is  you  !  I  want 
my  hair  dressed  again.  Nurse  has  done  it  so  abominably  ; 
and  Hilda  was  so  tiresome,  and  pulled  the  things  about 
so  dreadfully.  It  must  all  come  down.  Oh,  what  lovely 
flowers  !  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  " 

"  They  came  from  Rockdeane,  for  Cuthbert.  I  thought 
you  would  like  some  for  your  hair." 

"  Did  Sir  Philip  bring  them  after  all,  then  ?  I  thought 
he  would  not  go  without  saying  good-bye." 

"N~o;  he  sent  them  with  some  grouse,  and  some 
beautiful  fruit.  Now,  do  you  know  it  is  getting  late  ? 
Let  me  begin  your  hair." 

Irene  soon  smoothed  her  sister's  abundant  hair,  and 
dressed  it  with  taste  and  skill.  The  whole  effect,  when 
o  2 


196  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

it  was  complete,  was  very  gratifying ;  and  Mrs.  William- 
son said, — 

"  Really,  these  flowers  are  a  wonderful  addition.  Mrs. 
Tillett  will  not  have  anything  to  equal  them." 

Irene  seized  the  happy  moment ;  and,  as  she  was 
putting  a  few  finishing  touches  to  her  sister's  hair,  she 
said, — 

"  Mary,  if  you  and  Forster  go  to  Paris,  will  you  let 
me  take  nurse  and  the  children  to  Orchard  Leigh? 
Cuthbert  has  set  his  heart  upon  it." 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  much  too  far — so  much  too  expensive 
a  journey.  I  am  sure  Forster  will  say  so.  Just  put 
that  bit  of  maiden  hair  a  little  more  to  the  left,  Irene." 

"  I  have  the  money  all  ready  for  the  journey,  Mary," 
Irene  said,  "  and  we  can  have  the  little  house  at  Orchard 
Leigh,  on  the  cliff — Eden  "Villa — the  one  that  used  to  be 
covered  with  such  beautiful  roses  in  old  days.  I  wrote 
to  Mrs.  Stephens,  and  asked  her  about  the  rent.  We  can 
have  it  from  the  1st  of  September  for  six  weeks  for  two 
guineas  a  week.  May  I  write  to  say  we  will  engage 
it?" 

"  I  will  speak  to  Forster  about  it.  It  might  be  rather 
nice ;  and  we  might  come  to  you  when  we  have  been  our 
trip.  Forster  needs  the  complete  change  so  much ;  and 
there  is  the  doctor  there  who  used  to  attend  Cuthbert  in 
our  dear  mother's  time.  I  don't  think  it  is  at  all  a  bad 
idea.  But  how  did  you  get  the  money,  Irene  1 " 

"  I  earned  it  with  my  pen,"  said  Irene ;  "  it  is  mine, 
to  do  what  I  like  with ;  and  Cuthbert  and  I  shall  enjoy 
this  together." 

"  There  is  Forster  calling  me;  and  there  is  the  cab.  Do 
give  me  my  cloak.  It  is  a  pity  you  are  not  going,  too. 
1  must  just  run  into  the  drawing-room  and  show  myself 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  197 

to  Cuthbert.  Good-bye,  dear;  thank  you.  You  are  a 
first-rate  lady's-maid." 

Mrs.  Williamson  tripped  lightly  away,  and  Irene  was 
left  with  the  debris  of  flowers  and  every  conceivable 
thing  that  could  make  a  room  untidy,  lying  here  and 
there.  She  busied  herself  in  arranging  the  dressing- 
table,  closing  and  locking  her  sister's  jewel-box,  which 
Hilda's  little  fingers  had  rifled  and  upset,  and  then  she 
went  to  the  window  and  sat  down  to  rest  before  going  to 
her  nephews,  as  she  had  promised. 

u  Why  should  I  be  disappointed,  or  care  1 "  she  asked 
herself.  "  He  is  always  kind  and  friendly  to  me  when 
we  meet.  What  can  I  want  more  ?  Even  if  it  had 
been,  as  I  suppose  I  was  beginning  to  be  so  silly  as  to 
think  it  was,  it  could  not  have  been  good  for  me.  I  don't 
think  those  high  aspirings  of  his  would  have  suited  me. 
He  would  have  left  me  so  far  behind  ;  it  is  so  much 
better  as  it  is.  And  then  1  know  that  the  One  I  love 
best  has  ordered  my  life — making  me  of  use  when  I  little 
expected  it — and  showing  me  my  work  and  giving  me 
peace  in  it." 

In.  another  five  minutes  Irene's  face  was  bright  and 
happy.  She  went  to  Hilda's  little  bed  and  sang  her  her 
Evening  Hymn,  and  then  delighted  Cuthbert  and  Randal 
by  reading  to  them  the  proof-sheets  of  her  new  story. 

The  next  morning,  on  his  way  to  the  station,  Sir 
Philip  came  in  to  say  the  Good-bye  which  he  had  pro- 
mised. He  did  not  stay  long ;  and,  as  he  left  the  house, 
Mrs.  Williamson  said — 

"  I  do  begin  to  believe  it  is  true,  and  that  he  is  engaged 
to  Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant.  I  heard  some  people 
talking  of  it  last  night.  After  all  you  have  done  for  the 
family,  Irene  ;  subjecting  yourself,  and,  indeed,  all  of  us, 


198  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

to  the  risk  of  scarlet  fever  by  nursing  his  sister  and 
brother,  and  giving  up  everything  for  them,  I  think 
they  might  all  show  a  little  more  gratitude  ;  though, 
as  I  always  told  you,  you  have  managed  the  whole 
thing  very  badly.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind 
— not  the  slightest — that  when  he  first  came  here,  Sir 
Philip  was  really  very  much  taken  with  you.  It  is  en- 
tirely your  own  fault ;  and,  of  course,  when  he  found 
you  so  stiff  and  cold,  and  Lady  Eugenia  so  very  much 
the  reverse,  he  was  not  slow  to  discover  all  she  had  to 
bring  him,  which  you  have  not." 

Can  there  be  anything  more  painful,  or  anything  which 
jars  a  sensitive  nature  more,  than  to  have  our  very  inner- 
most and  scarcely-acknowledged  thoughts  and  feelings 
openly  discussed.  The  torture  that  some  of  us  undergo 
from  this  too  common  habit  cannot  be  expressed  by  words. 
"We  are  all  given  to  talk  about  each  other  a  great  deal 
more  than  is  wise  or  right.  But  the  shaft  passes  by 
harmlessly  and  does  no  real  mischief  to  some  dense  souls  ; 
while  to  others,  bitterness  of  spirit  and  tears  of  self- 
reproach  in  secret,  are  often  the  results.  At  least, 
in  all  matters  relating  to  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage, 
do  let  us  try  to  remember  that  "silence  is  golden." 

The  great  wish  of  Irene's  heart  at  this  time  was  accom- 
plished. Mr.  Williamson's  doctor  advised  entire  rest 
and  change ;  and  the  idea  of  the  tour  abroad  with  his 
wife  met  with  the  cordial  approval  of  Dr.  Simpson ;  and, 
except  the  misgiving  she  had  about  the  length  of  the 
journey  for  Cuthbert,  Irene  felt  no  difficulty  in  carrying 
out  her  scheme.  Mrs.  Henderson's  kindly  offer  of  a 
night's  rest  at  her  house  at  Worcester  was  accepted ; 
and,  on  the  1st  of  September,  the  whole  family  left 
Rodham  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williamson  going  with  the 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  199 

children  and  Irene  as  far  as  Worcester,  and  then  leaving 
them  to  pursue  their  journey  to  Orchard  Leigh  the  next 
day. 

The  little  eccentric  old  lady  gave  Irene  the  warmest 
reception,  and  Cuthbert  was  provided  with  a  room 
adjoining  his  Aunt's,  and  treated  with  the  greatest  kind- 
ness and  consideration. 

"  He  is  a  sweet  boy,  my  dear,  and  the  very  image  of 
you,"  she  said,  when,  after  trotting  up  and  down- 
stairs incessantly  that  evening,  she  finally  subsided 
into  her  easy-chair  and  took  out  her  knitting.  "  I 
took  a  fancy  to  you  from  the  moment  I  saw  you, 
and  through  all  that  trying  scarlet  fever  time  at  Rock- 
deane  you  were  so  patient  and  pleasant.  Dear  me  !  it 
is  to  be  hoped  a  rise  in  life  will  not  spoil  you." 

Irene  laughed. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  likely  to  be  tried." 

"  Now,  my  dear,  that  is  nonsense.  We  shall  see  you  lady 
at  Rockdeane  in  another  year.  I  am  not  blind  or  deaf. 
Of  course  I  saw  and  heard  a  great  deal  all  those  weeks  at 
Rockdeane  ;  and,  by  the  tone  of  my  niece's  note,  I  knew 
she  had  some  very  special  reason  for  inviting  me.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  the  scarlet  fever,  and  the  necessity  of 
somebody  going,  who  was  too  old  to  take  the  infection — 
as  she  implied  I  was,  for  I  am  in  my  seventieth  year,  my 
dear,  and  not  ashamed  of  it  either — I  should  not  have 
seen  the  grand  house  for  some  years ;  perhaps,  never  ! 
Poor  Carrie  is  very  agreeable  and  handsome,  and  dresses 
well,  and  is  kind  in  her  way ;  but  she  is  a  woman  of  the 
world,  my  dear,  and  no  one  knows  her  better  than  her 
stepson  does.  He  reads  her  through  and  through  with 
those  eyes  of  his — extraordinary  eyes  they  are.  I  have 
often  heard  it  said  he  would  have  risen  to  the  very  top  of 


200  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

the  profession,  if  this  ready-made  fortune  had  not  couie  to 
him." 

"  By  the  help  of  his  eyes  ?  "  asked  Irene,  laughing. 

Mrs.  Henderson  looked  at  her  with  her  own  little  sharp 
beads,  which  suited  so  well  with  her  quick  restless  move- 
ments. 

"  No,  my  dear ;  by  his  brains  and  by  his  will," 
she  said.  "  A  resolute  will  is  Philip's.  Carrie  knows  that  ; 
and  it  is  my  opinion,  that  poor  little  Rosie  would  never 
have  got  this  concession  made  about  that  great  awkward 
lover  of  hers,  who  was  lounging  in  the  hall  at  Rock- 
deane  on  the  day  I  arrived,  if  it  had  not  been  that  she 
felt  he  was  a  friend  of  Philip's,  and  that  he  would  stick 
to  him  through  thick  and  thin ;  in  short,  that  opposition 
was  useless." 

So  the  little  lady  chatted  on,  and  Irene  was  amused 
at  the  children's  remarks  on  her,  when  she  went  to  kiss 
them  for  the  night. 

"  She  is  just  like  a  little  brown  sparrow,  Auntie," 
Randal  said  ;  "  and  doesn't  she  speak  out  her  mind. 
She  said  to  nurse,  just  now,  '  Make  yourself  comfortable, 
and  get  a  good  supper.  I  dislike  other  people's  maids  in 
my  house  ;  they  are  so  apt  to  unsettle  my  own  ;  but,  of 
course,  the  invalid  boy  must  have  you.  His  Aunt  slaves 
enough  for  him  as  it  is.' " 

"  And,  Auntie,"  said  little  Hilda  ;  "  she  said  I  wasn't 
to  scrape  my  feet  on  the  ledge  of  the  chair ;  she's  very 
particular,  nurse  says." 

"  But  very  kind,  dear  Hilda.  Mrs.  Henderson  is  not 
used  to  have  children  in  her  neat  pretty  little  house  ;  and 
we  must  remember  how  good  it  is  of  her  to  take  us  all  in." 

Cuthbert  had  a  restless  night,  and  was  so  unfit  to 
continue  his  journey  the  next  day,  that  Irene  yielded  to 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  201 

Mrs.  Henderson's  entreaty,  and  gave  him  a  few  hours 
more  rest ;  while  she  sent  a  telegram  to  the  house  at 
Orchard  Leigh,  to  say  that  their  coming  was  delayed  for 
another  day  ;  and  when,  at  last,  they  bid  their  kind 
hostess  good-bye,  she  let  them  depart  with  great 
reluctance,  and  would  not  hear  a  word  of  thanks,  only 
saying  that  she  hoped  to  see  them  on  their  return  from 
Orchard  Leigh.  How  long  that  return  was  to  be  delayed 
for  two  of  the  number,  neither  Mrs.  Henderson  nor  any 
one  guessed. 

Poor  Cuthbert,  after  a  fortnight's  enjoyment  of  the  sea, 
and  the  return  to  all  the  scenes,  which  were  dear  to  him, 
as  to  Irene,  for  the  sake  of  one  who  was  gone,  flagged,  and 
got  weaker ;  and  it  soon  became  apparent  that  another 
abscess  was  forming  on  his  hip,  and  he  must  go  through 
the  usual  course  of  pain  and  suffering,  which  would 
render  a  journey  northward  impossible  for  many  weeks. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williamson  arrived  on  their 
return  from  their  tour,  it  was  evident  that  it  was 
out  of  the  question  for  him  to  go  home.  His  father  was 
obliged  to  return  at  once ;  but  his  mother  lingered. 
Poor  Irene  had  her  full  share  of  blame  for  proposing  an 
expedition  which  had  brought  about  such  results,  and 
her  heart  sank  within  her  at  the  reproaches  which  her 
sister  could  not  resist  heaping  upon  her. 

In  vain  the  doctor  assured  Mrs.  Williamson  that  the 
accession  of  Cuthbert's  disease  would  have  been  probably 
developed  at  home,  that  it  would,  perhaps,  in  the  end,  be 
better  for  him  to  spend  the  winter  in  a  milder  climate, 
and  that  the  boy  might  be  better  after  this  abscess,  than 
he  had  been  before.  His  mother  would  not  take  any 
comfort  from  this  ;  she  thought  the  doctor  was  making  a 
nice  winter's  patient  out  of  her  boy,  and  saw  him  and 


202  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

everything  else  at  Orchard  Leigh,  through  a  distorted 
medium.  It  was  a  relief,  at  last,  when  Mr.  Williamson's 
order  came  for  his  wife,  and  Randal,  and  Hilda,  to  go 
home.  Irene  felt  as  if  she  could  bear  the  burden  better 
alone.  She  had  still  friends  and  kindly  neighbours  left 
in  the  place,  where  she  had  spent  so  many  happy  years 
with  her  mother  ;  and  her  father's  name,  who  had  been 
the  rector  of  a  parish  in  the  neighbourhood,  was  yet  held 
in  honour. 

The  evening  after  her  sister  and  the  children  were  gone, 
Irene  was  sitting  by  Cuthbert's  side,  and  looking  out  on 
the  sea,  which  could  be  seen  from  the  window,  over  the 
tops  of  the  trees,  now  wearing  once  more  their  autumn 
livery.  She  hoped  the  child  was  asleep  ;  but,  turning  her 
head  partly  to  look  at  him,  she  saw  his  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  and  that  the  pillow  was  wet. 

"  Do  you  feel  so  dull,  darling,  without  Randal  and 
Hilda  and  mamma  1 "  she  asked,  tenderly  stroking  back 
the  thick  hair  from  his  pale  forehead. 

"  No,  Auntie,  no.  I  am  only  thinking  how  dull  it 
must  be  for  you,  and  how  cross  I  was  this  morning, 
when  I  said,  now  nurse  was  gone,  I  would  not  let 
the  new  servant  Mrs.  Stephens  sent  come  near  me ;  it 

was  so  very "  Cuthbert's  tears  choked  him,  and 

rendered  the  rest  inaudible.  "I  mean  to  let  her  do 
everything  for  me  now.  You  will  be  making  yourself 
ill,  Auntie  ;  your  life  is  spent  in  nursing  sick  people,  and 
doing  something  for  others.  Please  go  out  for  a  walk 
now,  and  leave  me.  I  shall  go  to  sleep,  and  it  is  such 
a  lovely  evening ;  the  moon  will  be  so  beautiful  on  the 
sea.  Do  go — to  please  me,"  he  said,  beseechingly. 

"  Very  well,  dearest,  I  will  go  ;  and  when  I  come  back, 
we  will  light  the  pretty  reading-lamp,  and  I  will  read  to  you. " 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  203 

The  pretty  reading-lamp  was  one  of  Sir  Philip's  pre- 
sents to  Cuthbert,  and  greatly  prized.  Whenever  Irene 
touched  it,  it  always  seemed  to  bring  back  the  evening 
when  he  had  brought  it  to  Ecclestone  Square  and  had 
put  it  on  Cuthbert's  little  table,  as  a  sm-prise,  before  he 
displayed  a  new  book  of  sketches.  Now,  as  she  took  it 
up  and  placed  it  ready  by  the  boy's  couch,  thoughts  of 
the  past  came  back ;  and,  as  she  strolled  on  the  cliff  and 
came  home  by  the  village,  Irene  had  to  fight  one  of  those 
battles  with  herself,  out  of  which  all  true-hearted  women, 
who  have  God  on  their  side,  come  out  victors. 

She  turned  into  the  village  churchyard,  and  found  her 
way  in  the  dusk  to  the  white  marble  slab  which  marked 
her  mother's  resting-place.  It  was  all  beautiful  and 
serene,  like  the  close  of  that  dear  life  in  which  her  own. 
had  been  so  bound  up.  From  afar  came  the  distant 
murmur  of  the  waves  and  the  shouts  of  the  fishermen,  who 
were  getting  their  nets  ready  on  the  shore.  There  were 
soft  whisperings  of  the  trees  in  the  churchyard,  and  the 
sleepy  chuckle  of  an  old  jackdaw  as  it  settled  in  its  nest 
in  the  belfry  tower  for  the  night ;  voices  of  children  in 
the  village  street,  subdued  and  mellowed  by  distance, 
and  the  faint  moan  which  came  fitfully  as  the  autumn 
wind  wandered  through  the  open  space  at  the  top  of  the 
lych-gate  and  sank  again  to  stillness,  like  a  restless  and 
uneasy  spirit. 

It  was  a  time  when — 

"  From  something  seen  or  heard, 
Whether  forests  softly  stirred, 
Or  the  speaking  of  a  word, 
Or  the  singing  of  a  bird, 

Cares  and  sorrows  ceasa 


204  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

For  a  moment,  on  the  soul 
Falls  the  rest  that  maketh  whole, 
Falls  the  endless  peace ! 

"  0,  the  hush  from  earth's  annoys  f 
O,  the  heaven !  0,  the  joys ! 
Such  as  priests  or  singing-boys 

Cannot  sing  or  say ! 
There  is  no  more  pain  and  crying — 
There  is  no  more  death  and  dying — 
As  for  sorrow,  and  for  sighing, 
These  shall  flee  away ! " 

When  Irene  reached  Eden  Villa,  she  fcmnd  Cutlibert 
all  smiles  and  brightness.  The  new  maid  had  been  so  kind, 
and  brought  him  some  jelly,  and  lighted  the  lamp  ;  and 
there  was  a  present  of  flowers  from  the  Parsonage ;  and, 
above  all,  there  was  a  letter  by  the  late  post  for  Auntie. 

The  letter  proved  to  be  from  Rosie  Dennistoun,  and 
began  abruptly, — 

"I  have  heard  that  you  are  all  alone,  you  dear  darling 
Irene ;  and  that  you  are  not  coming  to  Rodham  for 
weeks  and  months.  So  I  got  Philip  to  make  mother 
let  me  come  and  see  you.  I  have  to  bring  my  maid — 
horrid  nuisance  ! — but  you  see  she  does  for  an  escort, 
and  you  won't  mind ;  for  she  is  a  nice  little  woman,  and 
not  fine  and  stupid.  I  can  stay  a  week;  and  I  have  such 
heaps  of  things  to  say  ! 

"  My  dear,  we  have  been  so  busy  in  London — looking 
after  the  swell  house  in  Queen's  Gate,  of  which  possession 
is  to  be  taken  in  February — and  mother  has  been  living 
in  the  society  of  upholsterers.  Philip  comes  backwards 
and  forwards,  leaving  everything  to  her,  except  one  little 
room — a  boudoir  for  somebody — that  is  to  be  untouched 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  205 

at  present.  Then  we  have  had  to  take  several  journeys 
to  Eton — just  to  see  how  Jasper  was — if  his  little  finger 
ached,  or  if  he  had  had  any  roughness  or  difficulty. 
On  the  contrary,  things  have  gone  remarkably  smooth 
with  him.  His  head  is  full  of  boys  with  big  handles  to 
their  names,  who  are  in  the  same  master's  house  with 
him — Mr.  Knight's  house.  He  is  more  of  a  dandy  than 
ever,  and  not  grown  an  inch,  in  spite  of  the  elongating 
process  of  scarlet  fever.  One  good  sign  I  noticed  yester- 
day. He  asked  for  you ;  said  you  were  the  j  oiliest 
woman  he  knew ;  and  told  me  to  remember  him  to  you. 
'  No  need,'  quoth  I ;  '  her  memories  of  you  must  be  suf- 
ficiently vivid  ;  especially  about  the  wine-glass  ! ' 

"  '  Too  bad  to  go  back  to  that ! ' — I  now  hear  you  saying 
it — most  peaceful  of  Irenes  !  As  if  it  could  be  of  any  con- 
sequence that  he  dashed  a  glass  of  champagne  in  your  face, 
because  it  hurt  him  to  swallow  it !  But  I  need  not  go 
on,  or  enlarge.  I  shall  take  the  eleven  o'clock  express 
from  Paddington  to-morrow  morning,  and  shall  get  to 
Exeter — oh,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  when  !  — but  on  to 
Orchard  Leigh  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Ever  and  always,  your  loving 

"K.  C.D." 

"P.S.— N.B. — My  heart  is  in  the  same  place  as  it  was 
last  May.  My  head  is  covered  with  little  funny  flat 
curls,  which  disturbs  mother's  peace  of  mind.  They  are 
making  a  lot  of  plaits  and  rolls  to  cover  them  when  I 
come  out  next  spring.  Love  to  Cuthbert." 

Irene  laughed  over  the  letter,  and  found  that  the 
news  it  contained  was  more  welcome  than  she  could  have 
believed  possible. 


206  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

* 

Rosie's  room,  and  the  maid's  room,  were  all  put  in 
order  by  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day ;  and  about  six 
o'clock  she  came  dancing  in,  full  of  life,  and  looking 
prettier  than  ever;  and  threw  herself  into  Irene's  arms, 
and  covered  her  with  kisses. 

She  was  in  the  humour  to  be  pleased  with  everything; 
and  her  spirits  were  exuberant.  She  brought  baskets  of 
treasures  for  Cuthbert ;  and  her  only  disappointment  was 
to  find  him  so  weak  and  suffering,  that  he  could  only  take 
a  languid  interest  in  what,  when  he  was  better,  would 
have  enchanted  him. 

"  And  you  are  to  be  left  alone  here  ?  "  Rosie  said,  when 
the  happy  week  had  come  to  its  close  ;  and  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun,  who  had  returned  to  Rockdeane,  refused  to  give 
Rosie  a  prolonged  leave  of  absence.  "  How  dreadfully 
dull  it  will  be  for  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Irene  said ;  "  if  I  could  only  see  Cuthbert 
better,  I  should  not  mind ;  but  I  fear  the  abscess  will 
have  to  be  lanced  and  probed  again,  and  that  does  not 
look  like  much  progress.  However,  I  have  faith  in  Mr. 
Spencer ;  he  is  really  a  clever  surgeon,  and  has  a  large 
practice  in  the  neighbourhood.  I  love  this  little  place 
dearly,  and  would  as  soon,  perhaps  sooner,  be  here  than 
at  Rodham,  except  for  thinking  that  there  are  some 
people  there  who  will  rather  miss  me.  I  wish  you  would 
go  to  Hildyard's  Almshouses  sometimes,  and  see  the  old 
people  and  Mrs.  Bolton." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  if  you  wish  it ;  only  I  shall  not 
kno\v  a  bit  what  to  say.  And  I  will  get  Randal  and 
Hilda  out  to  Rockdeane  whenever  I  can.  I  would  do 
anything  for  you,  Irene." 

"  I  know  you  would,  dear,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Did  I  tell  you,"  Rosie  went  on,  "  that  I  met  him — 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  207 

Mr.  Sandford — the  other  day  in  London.  It  was  stiff 
and  horrid  ;  but  still  I  think  he  would  understand  I  was 
not  changed  ;  only  mother  made  me  promise  to  go  on,  as 
if  he  had  never  proposed  to  me,  till  next  May  ;  and  then, 
after  I  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  London,  if  I  still  held  to 
my  promise,  and  still  kept  in  the  same  mind,  she  would 
hold  to  hers,  and  let  us  be  engaged,  and,"  with  a  little 
laugh,  "  married,  I  suppose." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right  to  do  as  your  mother  wishes, 
Rosie  ;  as  I  have  told  you  before." 

"  Yes ;  but,  when  one  thinks  of  it,  it  is  rather  hard. 
There  he  was,  the  other  day,  in  that  drawing-room  at  the 
St.  Johns',  when  we  met  quite  by  chance  ;  and  I  had  to 
speak  to  him  as  if  he  were  anyone — oh,  dear  !  " 

"You  don't  seem  broken-hearted,"  Irene  said,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  I  ne^er  saw  you  look  so  well  or  so  nice ;  those 
little  shining  rings  all  over  your  head,  and  that  charming 
little  bow  at  the  top,  are  most  becoming." 

"  So  Philip  says  ;  but  Philip  is  altered,  changed  some- 
how, Irene.  He  is  so  preoccupied  ;  and  always  seems  to 
be  thinking  of  something.  Now,  when  he  was  working 
at  the  Bar,  he  had  leisure  to  be  merry  and  silly  some- 
times. Now,  it  is  always  letters  and  elections,  and  seats 
in  the  House,  and  politics,  and  Lady  Eugenia.  Do  you 
know,  Irene,  I  believe  she  means  to  marry  him  ;  and  he 
will  persuade  himself  that  she  is  the  only  woman  to  be  of 
any  help  to  him  in  his  career,  and  all  that  sort  of 
nonsense  ;  but  I  also  believe  that  they,  neither  of  them, 
care  two  straws  for  each  other — don't  love  each  other,  I 
mean ;  and  that,  if  Philip  was  a  poor,  struggling  bar- 
rister, on  circuit  again,  unable  to  keep  a  grand  house,  or 
hold  his  own  with  all  the  great  people  in  the  county, 
Lady  Eugenia  would  just  as  soon  think  of  marrying  him 


ZUS  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

as  she  would  George  Sandford,  or  anyone  else  of  that 
sort." 

The  two  girls  were  sitting  in  the  autumn  sunshine  on 
the  cliff,  on  a  clump  of  dry  heather  ;  and  Irene's  face  was 
turned  from  her  companion. 

"Do  not  judge  others  so  hardly,  Rosie,"  was  her 
answer,  in  her  low,  gentle  voice ;  "  you  cannot  possibly 
know  what  your  brother  and  Lady  Eugenia  really  feel 
for  each  other." 

"  I  know  they  are  not  in  love  with  each  other,  as  I 
understand  love,"  said  Rosie  ;  and  then  she  broke  off 
suddenly,  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  pleasure,  as  she  ran  to  meet  her  brother : 
"  Talk  of  angels  and  you  see  their  wings.  Why,  Philip, 
what  are  you  come  for  ?  " 

"  Now,  I  call  that  sisterly  and  affectionate  ;  why,  I 
am  come  to  see  you,  and  take  you  home  to-morrow.  I 
thought  I  should  rather  like  the  spree.  I  am  sorry  you 
are  not  glad  to  see  me." 

Irene  meanwhile  had  risen,  and  stood  quietly  by  ;  and 
now  held  out  her  hand,  as  Philip  came  near  her,  and 
said  : 

"  Rosie  is  sorry  to  go  away  ;  but  not  sorry  to  see  you, 
I  am  sure." 

"  I  came  from  town  to-day,  and  am  bound  for  Rodham 
to-monow  ;  but  we  must  stop  for  a  night  half-way,  little 
Rosie  ;  where  shall  it  be — at  Worcester  ?  If  we  don't, 
we  shall  have  to  start  so  awfully  early  to-morrow." 

"  Hereford,  not  Worcester.  Aunt  Sophy  would  not  be 
as  glad  to  see  us  as  she  was  to  see  Irene,  the  '  capable ' 
young  woman,  who  never  did  anything  wrong,  except 
spoil  me  when  I  was  ill." 

"  A  process  which  seems  to  go  on,  whether  ill  or  well," 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  209 

said  Philip ;  but  he  continued,  turning  to  Irene  : 
"I  want  to  hear  about  my  friend  Cuthbert.  I  am 
afraid  he  is  much  worse.  I  went  to  Eden  Villa  when 
I  arrived,  and  heard  a  bad  account  of  him  from  the  maid, 
who  said  he  was  just  then  asleep,  and  directed  me 
here  to  find  you.  I  think  Cuthbert  ought  to  have 
a  London  surgeon's  opinion  ?  " 

"  His  father  is  coming  again  soon,  and  will  decide  what 
is  best,"  said  Irene ;  "  I  have  great  faith  in  Mr.  Spencer, 
the  doctor  here." 

"  If  it  were  to  do  him  good — or  relieve  you,"  Sir  Philip 
added,  "  I  would  most  willingly  telegraph  for  Paget,  or 
any  other  London  celebrity ;  and,  of  course,  take  the 
responsibility — the  fee,  I  mean." 

"  Thank  you,"  Irene  said  ;  "  I  don't  think  it  would  be 
of  any  real  use  to  Cuthbert.  The  disease  from  which  he 
suffers  is  not  so  uncommon ;  and,  even  in  this  small 
place,  there  is  another  case  almost  precisely  similar.  I 
think,  Rosie,"  she  said,  "  I  will  go  home  now  ;  and  leave 
you  to  take  Sir  Philip  over  Orchard  Leigh.  We  shall 
have  tea  at  six  o'clock." 

Sir  Philip  looked  after  her  as  she  turned  away,  and 
began  to  whistle,  which  Rosie  knew  was  an  ominous  sign. 

"  Is  the  boy  much  worse,  Rosie  1 "  he  asked 
presently.  "  Really,  it  is  very  cool  of  the  Williamsons 
to  leave  her  all  the  trouble  and  nursing." 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  could  help  it,"  Rosie  said. 
"  Cuthbert  became  so  much  worse  here  ;  that  is,  this  new 
abscess  began  to  form  on  his  hip ;  and  I  believe  it  must 
run  the  usual  course.  The  only  thing  is  to  keep  up  his 
strength." 

"And  hers,  too,"  said  Sir  Philip;  "these  unselfish 
people  never  think  of  themselves.  Come ;  let  us 

P 


210  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

lionize  this  "wonderful  Devonshire  village  on  the  cliff,  or 
between  the  cliffs,  whichever  you  like  to  call  it." 

Sir  Philip  strode  on,  and  Rosie  had  some  difficulty  in 
keeping  np  with  him.  But  he  was  not  conversational, 
and  as  Rosie  expressed  it  afterwards — "  out  of  sorts."  She 
parted  from  him  at  the  door  of  the  little  hotel  where  he 
was  to  sleep,  and  where  he  said  he  must  go  and  look  out 
some  less  travel-stained  garments  before  presenting  him- 
self at  tea.  Cuthbert  was  carried  down  into  the  little 
dining-room,  that  he  might  not  miss  a  moment  of  Sir 
Philip's  society ;  and  he  was  all  eager  anxiety  for  his 
arrival.  The  table  was  prettily  set  out  by  Irene's  hand  ; 
nd  when  Sir  Philip  looked  in  at  the  open  window,  from 
the  autumn  twilight,  he  lingered  a  moment,  for  the  sake  of 
the  pleasiire  the  picture,  which  would  have  delighted  the 
eye  of  any  artist,  afforded  him.  The  little  table,  with 
its  snowy  cloth;  the  reading-lamp  and  two  candles  upon 
it ;  Cuthbert's  sofa  drawn  close  to  the  end  where  Irene 
presided  over  the  tea  and  coffee,  a  soft  light  falling  upon 
her  small,  graceful  head,  with  the  chestnut  hair  braided 
back  from  the  fair,  serene  brow,  as  she  bent  over  the 
boy,  and  moved  one  of  his  pillows  for  him. 

Her  white  dress,  with  little  sprays  of  green  scattered 
over  it,  was  fastened  at  the  throat  by  a  brooch,  a  brooch 
Sir  Philip  knew  well — the  dove,  with  outspread  wings, 
with  the  word  "Pax"  under  it,  in  Roman  mosaic.  It 
had  been  her  mother's,  and  was  a  relic  of  the  past  which 
he  knew  was  dear  to  her. 

Rosie,  in  her  bright  evening  .dress  of  some  gauzy  cerise 
material,  with  her  cheeks  brilliant  with  the  rapid  exercise 
in  the  air  of  the  autumn  evening,  her  short  curls  bound 
with  a  ribbon  like  her  dress,  on  which  a  little  gold 
butterfly  ^yas  perched,  was  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 


"  THIS,   TOO,   WILL  PASS."  211 

table  ;  and,  as  Sir  Philip  leaned  against  the  widow-sill, 
unseen  as  yet,  she  said, 

"  That  dear  old  Philip  posted  along  to-night  at  such  a 
pace  that  I  am  quite  tired.  He  always  posts  when  he  is 
rather  cross.  Oh  ! "  and  Rosie  gave  a  little  scream, 
as  a  little  scarlet  berry  from  the  sweetbriar  bush, 
which  grew  by  the  window,  well  aimed,  touched  her 
cheek.  "  Philip  !  — "  and  the  next  moment  she  had  run 
out  to  meet  him. 

A  very  happy  evening  followed.  "When  tea  was  over, 
Sir  Philip  carried  Cuthbert  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
laid  him  on  the  sofa  there  ;  sitting  by  his  side,  as  in  the 
days  of  their  early  acquaintance,  and  talking  of  things 
which  the  boy  liked  best  to  hear.  There  was  no  piano, 
but  Rosie  and  Irene  sang  a  little  German  duet  together ; 
and  then  Cuthbert  said, 

"Auntie,  do  sing  something  alone — my  song." 

"  Yes,  let  us  have  your  song,  Cuthbert,"    Rosie  said. 

"  You  have  so  many,  Cuthbert ;  which  one  ?  " 

"  The  tempest  rages  wild  and  high." 

And  Irene  sang ;  her  clear,  sweet  voice  lingering  over 
the  infinite  pathos  of  "  Miserere  Doinine,"  and  swelling 
the  jubilant  strain  of  the  concluding  words,  "  Gloria  tibi, 
Domine." 

No  one  spoke  when  she  ceased  ;  and  she  rose  quietly, 
and  said  Cuthbert  must  go  to  bed,  or  he  would  have  a 
bad  night. 

"  I  can  carry  the  boy,"  Sir  Philip  said,  "if  you  will 
show  me  the  way." 

Rosie  took  one  of  the  candles,  and  preceded  her 
brother,  while  he  raised  Cuthbert  in  his  arms." 

"It  is  so  nice  to  have  you  to  lift  me,"  he  said ;  "it 
feels  so  safe," 

p  2 


212  HEIGHTS   AKD   VALLEYS. 

But  when  he  laid  him  on  the  bed  upstairs,  Sir  Philip 
saw  that  he  was  biting  his  lips,  and  that  his  face  was 
very  pale. 

"My  boy,  have  I  hurt  you  1  "  Sir  Philip  asked. 

"  You  can't  help  it  j  no  one  can.  Even  Auntie  hurts 
a  little.  But  I  have  got  much  braver  now.  I  try  to  be 
a  real  soldier,  and  to  fight  all  I  can  for  His  sake.  You 
know  who  I  mean." 

Sir  Philip  bent  over  the  child,  and  kissed  him.  "  God 
bless  you,  my  dear  boy;  don't  forget  me  ;  "  and  then  he 
was  gone. 

•.  Rosie  went  to  give  the  maid  some  orders  about  being 
ready  by  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning ;  and  when  Sir 
.Philip  returned  to  the  drawing-room  it  was  empty.  He 
saw  Irene  no  more ;  and  only  Rosie  returned  to  bid  him 
good  night,  and  to  say  that  she  would  be  quite  ready  to 
start  at  the  appointed  time  the  next  day.  She  put  her 
arm  through  her  brother's ;  and,  looking  up  into  his 
face,  said, 

"Philip,  I  don't  understand  you  now.  I  think,"  she 
went  on,  in  her  childlike,  caressing  way,  "  I  think  you 
are  making  a  mistake,  and  that  you  and  Irene  would  be 
so  happy  together;  far  happier  than  you  and  Lady " 

He  repulsed  Bosie  almost  roughly,  and  said,  "You 
are  a  mere  child,  Rosie,  and  don't  know  anything  about 
it.  Pray  do  not  interfere  in  my  concerns." 

"I  do  understand,"  she  said,  trembling,  while  the 
tears  started  to  her  bright  eyes  ;  "I  do  understand  what 
love  means,  and  I  do  know  the  difference  between  those 
who  can  love  if  all  things  go  smoothly,  and  those 
who  fly  off,  like  swallows,  at  the  first  breath  of  adversity. 
1  do  know  what  Irene  is." 

"  Not  another  word,  Rosie,"  Sir  Philip  said,  sternly; 


"  THIS,   TOO,   WILL   PASS."  213 

and  then  he  repented  of  his  harshness.  As  he  was  going 
down  the  little  garden,  he  stopped,  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Rosie,  my  child,  forgive  me.  I  have  been  horribly 
savage  of  late  ;  poor  little  thing  !  "  and  he  stroked  the 
curly  head,  which  was  only  too  glad  to  lean  against  his 
shoulder  in  token  of  full  reconciliation.  "  I  saw  Sandford 
yesterday,"  he  added.  "  He  is  living  in  hope,  and  is 
going  to  spend  the  winter  with  the  old  people  at  Stow, 
and  he  has  begun  a  book  of  Alpine  feats,  which  he  is  to 
write  and  I  am  to  illustrate.  Good  night,  little  one  !  " 

He  thought  he  had  seen  the  last  of  Irene ;  but  the 
next  morning,  after  a  restless  night,  he  turned  out  of  the 
hotel,  in  the  mists  of  the  autumn  morning,  when  scarcely 
a  creature  was  stirring  in  the  little  village,  and  walked 
over  the  cliffs.  Returning,  he  passed  the  churchyard, 
and  went  in.  By  a  white  marble  cross  a  small  figure 
was  leaning,  which  struck  him  as  at  once  familiar.  He 
scarcely  liked  to  intrude  on  Irene  at  such  a  moment,  and 
was  going  to  retreat,  when  she  turned  her  head  and  saw 
him. 

"  You  are  out  early,"  he  said,  going  up  to  her. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  had  a  sleepless  night ;  the  poor  child 
has  suffered  so  much.  I  have  scarcely  left  him,  and  I 
come  here  for  a  little  refreshment  almost  every  morning." 

Sir  Philip  read  the  inscription  on  the  slab,  and  saw 
that  both  her  father  and  her  mother  were  buried  there. 

"I  come  here  to  realize  rest  and  peace,"  she  said ; 
"  and  it  braces  me  for  what  I  have  to  do.  I  like  to  think  of 
them  who  rest  not  day  or  night  in  the  service  of  Him 
whom  they  loved,  and  yet  can  never  know  weariness  or 
tiredness  again.  The  service  of  love  which  cannot  be 
weary,  must  be  the  perfection  of  life." 


214  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Evidently  she  was  very  tired ;  for,  as  she  spoke,  her 
eyes  bent  down  upon  the  turf,  where  now  a  thousand  dew- 
drops  were  sparkling  in  the  eastern  sunshine,  which 
had  just  triumphed  over  the  mists  and  fogs.  He  saw  that 
her  cheeks  were  very  pale,  and  that  on  the  long  fringe  of 
lashes,  which  rested  on  them,  there  was  also  dew,  the  dew 
of  recent  tears. 

"  You  are  doing  too  much,"  he  said ;  "  it  ought  not  to 
be  so." 

"  Oh !  no ;  it  is  not  too  much,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  not  always  so  tired."  She  looked  up  at  him,  and 
there  was  an  expression  in  his  eyes  which  brought  the 
colour  back  into  her  face,  and  in  another  minute  she  had 
drawn  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  said,  in  her 
natural  tone — "  Will  you  come  home  to  breakfast  1  it  is 
just  nine  o'clock." 

"  I  ordered  it  at  the  hotel,  thanks,"  he  said ;  "  so 
I  suppose  we  must  part  here." 

Something  like  a  shadow  came  into  her  dim  eyes ; 
but  it  passed  away. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  see  that  Rosie  is  at  the 
coach  office  by  ten  o'clock.  Thank  you  for  smoothing  the 
way  for  me  to  have  her  for  this  week  ;  it  has  been  such 
a  help.  Good-bye." 

So  they  parted.  One  going  on  in  the  path,  which  lay 
up  the  mountain  side,  ever  higher  and  higher  the  ascent — 
so  the  world  said ;  for  honours  and  success  seemed  to 
come  thick  and  fast  on  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun.  The 
other — to  her  lowly,  but  appointed  track,  through  the 
valley  ;  taking  up  the  way-side  flowers  of  love  and  self- 
forgetfulness,  and  unconsciously  weaving  for  her  gentle 
brow  a  crown  of  unfading  beauty ;  unconsciously  to 
herself,  too,  being  raised  higher  and  higher  on  the  wings 


"THIS,  TOO,  WILL  PASS."  215 

of  faith  and  hope  to  Him  whose  loving-kindness  is 
better  than  the  life  itself ;  who,  for  the  meek  and  gentle 
souls,  reserves  a  height  of  blessedness  in  the  Eternal 
Kingdom  of  His  Father,  of  which  they  little  dream 
nor  has  it  entered  into  their  hearts  to  conceive. 


CHAPTER  X. 


SIR  JASPER  ONCE  MOKE. 

"  0,  learn  to  read  what  silent  love  hath  writ, 
To  hear  with  eyes,  belongs  to  love's  fine  wit ! " 

SHAKESPEARE. 

ONE  bright  morning,  early  in  January,  Rosie  Dennistoun 
came  dancing  into  the  drawing-room  at  Ecclestone 
Square,  and  rushed  into  Irene's  arms,  with  all  her 
wonted  empressement. 

"  You  are  really  come  then.  Isn't  it  delightful ;  and 
just  in  time  for  the  great  events  which  are  coming  off, 
and  for  the  climax  of  the  28th,  my  birthday  festivities, 
a  dinner,  and  a  dance  ;  and  heaps  of  people  staying  in  the 
house  at  Rockdeane,  and  all  kinds  of  fun.  This  drawing- 
room  looks  desolate  without  Cuthbert's  sofa,  I  must  say ; 
how  is  he  ?  " 

"Much  better,"  was  the  reply;  "and  in  a  month's 
time  I  hope  he  will  be  able  to  return  with  his  mother. 
She  is  so  glad  to  be  with  him  again,  and  the  change  was 
good  for  Mary,  who  has  not  been  very  strong  this  winter, 
and,  perhaps,  just  as  well  for  every  one." 

"For  you  certainly,  you  look  dreadfully  pale 
and  thin ;  but  I  daresay  you  will  only  begin 
to  trudge  about  after  the  poor  people,  and  wear 
yourself  out  with  them.  I  shall  not  allow  it,  while 


SIR  JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  217 

I  am  here,  however.  But  we  shall  all  be  off  to 
London  the  first  week  in  February,  I  am  afraid.  Sir 
Philip  Dennistoun,  M.P.,  is  anxious  to  take  his  seat,  and 
we  are  all  anxious  to  shine  with  borrowed  lustre,  as 
becomes  his  mother,  sister,  and  brother.  There  has  been 
a  fuss  with  Jasper,  of  course,"  and  Eosie's  face  became 
more  serious  ;  "  he  borrowed  money  of  Frederick  Tillett, 
and  they  have  been  going  on  so  badly  together.  It  came 
to  Philip's  ears,  and  we  had  an  awful  commotion  ;  but  I 
daresay  Jasper  will  behave  better  now  you  are  come ; 
we  all  shall.  You  don't  ask  about  the  Rodham 
people.  Lady  Eugenia  begins  to  droop  a  little,  for,  in 
spite  of  great  friendship,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  Philip 
has  not  actually  proposed  to  her.  It  is  rather  odd,  and  I 
don't  understand  it ;  but  so  it  is.  I  don't  think  Philip 
knows  his  own  mind." 

"  I  should  have  thought  no  one  knew  it  better,"  Irene 
said. 

"  Well,  now  we  will  talk  about  the  twenty-eighth.  I 
shall  be  nineteen,  and  we  are  going  to  make  it  an  occa- 
sion for  doing  kindness  to  every  one,  before  we  go  to 
London.  What  with  the  scarlet  fever  about  the  house, 
and  having  to  go  to  London,  every  one  has  not  been 
entertained  as  they  ought  to  be.  We  are  to  have  a  suc- 
cession of  people  staying  with  us,  as  I  told  you  ;  and 
dinners  to  suit  their  various  degrees.  Mother  is  so  great 
in  the  little  distinctions  now ;  and  she  has  learned  the 
whole  ins  and  outs  of  Rodham,  and  the  county,  in  the 
most  wonderful  way.  We  begin  to-morrow  with  the  first 
batch  of  people,  and  a  dinner  the  day  after.  I  want  you 
to  come  for  the  whole  time,  will  you  1 " 

"  Oh,  no ;  most  decidedly  not,"  said  Irene ;  "  I  have 
to  look  after  Forster  and  the  children,  and  there  are 


218  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

many  things  also  I  must  attend  to.  I  shall  like  to  see  you 
on  your  birthday  ;  one  such  party  will  be  quite  enough 
for  me." 

"  But  you  will  come  to  dinner  with  Mr.  Williamson  on 
the  twenty-third,  and  stay  on  after  that." 

"  No,  I  think  not.  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Rosie,  to 
invite  me ;  but  I  don't  feel  in  the  least  up  to  many  of 
your  grand  doings.  Perhaps  I  am  not  very  strong  ;  for 
it  tires  me  even  to  think  of  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Rosie,  "  you  shall  do  as  you  wish ; 
but  you  must  and  shall  come  on  the  twenty-eighth.  All 
the  rooms  are  to  be  thrown  open ;  and  we  are  to  have 
dancing  and  music,  and  something  to  please  every  one. 
All  Rodham,  and  the  county  besides,  are  to  be  there  on 
that  occasion ;  and  oh,  it  will  all  be  very  much  like  a 
story  !  Just  think  two  years  ago,  when  I  was  seventeen, 
how  little  I  dreamed  of  such  times  as  these.  I  went  to  a 
little  dancing-party  at  a  neighbour's  at  Kensington,  in  a 
white  muslin,  with  some  flowers  in  my  hair  that  George 
Sandford  sent  me  ;  and  Philip  was  too  tired  and  busy  to 
go  with  us.  He  came  home  dusty  and  inky  from  his  cham- 
bers, just  as  we  were  starting ;  and  said  he  should  have  to 
be  hard  at  work  till  two  or  three  in  the  morning ;  but 
somehow" — Rosie  paused.  Then  she  went  on — "  Some- 
how, the  Philip  of  those  days  was  more  to  me  than  the 
Philip  of  these.  It  is  not  that  he  is  a  bit  spoiled,  or  set 
up — that  he  could  never  be — but  he  is  always  so  full  of 
schemes  and  plans  ;  and  he  often  looks  far  more  tired 
than  in  the  old  times." 

Hilda  and  Randal  now  came  running  in,  to  claim 
Irene's  promise  of  a  walk,  and  were  delighted  with 
a  drive  instead,  in  the  pretty  pony  carriage  which 
was  waiting  for  Rosie,  and  in  which  she  drove 


JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  219 

them  all  half-way  to  Eockdeane ;  setting  them  down  at 
the  first  gate,  and  leaving  them  to  walk  home. 

In  spite  of  many  attempts  to  change  her  purpose,  Irene 
held  firmly  to  her  determination  not  to  enter  into  any  of 
the  Rockdeane  festivities  till  Rosie's  birthday  arrived. 
Her  sister  wrote  often  from  Orchard  Leigh,  where  she 
was  fast  losing  a  cold  and  cough,  which  had  clung  to  her 
through  the  early  part  of  the  winter,  and  expressed  great 
interest  in  the  coming  parties  at  Rockdeane.  She  was  very 
anxious  that  Irene  should  have  a  new  dress  for  the 
occasion,  and  begged  her  to  get  a  suitable  and  pretty  one. 
Ideas  differ  as  to  what  is  suitable  and  pretty ;  and  Mrs. 
Williamson  would  undoubtedly  have  found  fault  with 
the  simple  and  unpretending  white  dress  which  lay  on. 
the  bed,  on  the  eventful  night  of  the  twenty- eighth, 
waiting  for  Irene  to  put  it  on. 

It  was  getting  very  late,  and  yet  the  dress  lay 
untouched.  Irene  had  helped  Rosie  in  various  little 
finishing  touches  about  the  rooms  which  servants  never 
give ;  and  long  after  she  had  disappeared  to  dress, 
she  went  hither  and  thither  at  Mrs.  Dennistoun's  in- 
stigation, from  one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other.  She 
was  too  little  accustomed  to  think  of  herself,  even  to 
remember  how  tired  all  the  extra  exertion  would  make 
her.  And  when  at  length  she  went  to  her  room,  she  lay 
down  on  the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ;  and,  instead  of 
beginning  to  dress,  she  began  to  dream,  and  was  uncon- 
scious of  everything  that  was  passing,  till  a  touch  on  her 
shoulder  awakened  her. 

"  Do  you  know  it  is  nearly  ten,  and  every  one  is 
coming.  Are  you  astonished  to  see  me  ?" 

The  speaker  was  Lady  Eugenia,  who  stood  before  Irene 
in  the  most  becoming  dress  of  pale  blue,  here  and 


220  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

there  looped  up  with  the  faintest  blush  roses ;  some  of 
which  were  also  arranged  in  the  masses  of  light  hair 
which  hung  low  over  her  sloping  shoulders,  and  were 
fastened  in  their  place  by  a  diamond  pin. 

Irene,  between  sleeping  and  waking,  could  not  repress 
the  words  which  rose  to  her  lips, — 

"  How  beautiful  you  look." 

"  Do  I  ?  "Well,  be  quick,  and  make  yourself  beautiful, 
too ;  and  we  will  go  down  together.  I  will  make  myself 
comfortable  in  this  chair,  and  wait.  I  wanted  to  see  you, 
and  talk  to  you,  that  is  why  I  came.  Oh,  dear  !"  and 
with  a  sigh,  Lady  Eugenia  threw  herself  back  in  the  chair, 
and  went  on — "  Why  don't  you  ring  for  a  maid ;  that 
child  Rosie  must  be  dressed  by  this  time." 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  dress  myself,  thanks." 

"  Not  your  hair  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  hair ;  and  I  dislike  to  have  it  touched  by 
other  people." 

"  How  odd  !  I  should  die  of  the  trouble,  if  I  had  to 
touch  mine  myself." 

"  But  you  and  I  are  different." 

"  I  know  that ;  you  are  not  only  different  to  me,  but 
to  all  the  world  beside.  Do  you  remember  that  day  long 
ago  when  I  met  you  in  an  old  broken-down  vehicle,  in  the 
autumn  twilight  ?  As  you  turned  your  face  towards  me 
then,  I  took  a  liking  to  it ;  and  I  never  see  it  but  I  feel  the 
same  liking.  I  had  no  idea  that  the  man  who  was  whipping 
up  the  grey  pony  was  Sir  Philip.  I  read  it  differently — 
I  thought  he  was  a  friend,  something  more  to  you  than  a 
friend,  perhaps,  who  had  come  from  your  old  home  in 
Devonshire  to  see  you,  and  had  taken  you  and  that  boy 
a  drive.  I  made  a  story  out  of  it.  You  looked  so  happy, 
and  just  then  I  was  miserable  ;  I  felt  ill,  and  weak,  and 


SIR  JASPER    ONCE    MORE.  221 

stupid,  as  if  life  had  nothing  in  it  worth  living  for — 
wishing  the  end  would  come.  But  since  then  it  has  been 
changed,  and  now  it  has  come  to  a  stop  again ;  I  feel 
the  old  blank  creeping  back.  I  shall  get  the  blues  again, 
and  fall  into  ill-health,  as  they  say.  Irene,  I  wonder 
•what  it  is  that  makes  you  look  so  serene  and  happy  ?  It 
is  a  mystery ;  because  you  have  not,  I  suppose,  every- 
thing to  make  you  so,  as  Aunt  Catharine  is  always  saying 
I  have.  What  is  it?" 

The  answer  to  the  question  did  not  come,  for  there  was 
a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Lady  Eugenia's  maid  appeared. 

"  I  came  to  tell  your  ladyship  that  a  great  many  people 
have  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  has  sent  for  Miss 
Denuistoun.  All  the  ladies  are  gone  down;  had  not 
your  ladyship  better  go  too  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  hurry  myself.  Look  here,  Elstone,  finish 
dressing  Miss  Clifford,  and  I  will  watch  the  operation." 

"  This  dress  1  "  inquired  Elstone,  significantly,  as  she 
touched  the  white  heap  on  the  bed ;  "  and  what  orna- 
ments 1  " 

"  Those  white  camellias,  please,  for  my  hair ;  and  if 
you  will  put  them  in  for  me  I  shall  be  very  glad." 

The  voice  was  irresistible.  Elstone  melted.  She  put 
on  the  white  silk  skirt,  and  then  arranged  the  tunic  and 
body  of  white  tulle,  with  her  professional  fingers,  looping 
up  the  tunic  with  sprays  of  fern  and  camellia  buds,  and 
putting  some  in  Irene's  hair. 

"  Any  ornaments  1  "  she  asked  again  ;  but  more 
graciously  this  time. 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  a  string  of  pearls,  on  some  black  velvet, 
for  the  throat  and  wrists." 

"  Old-fashioned  "  was  almost  on  Elstone's  lips,  but  she 
took  the  little  necklet  in  her  hand,  and  tied  it  in  its  place. 


222  HEIGHTS   AND  VALLEYS. 

"She  wants  no  ornaments,"  said  Lady  Eugenia, 
"  except  those  she  always  has ;  "  and,  with  an  impulse 
she  could  not  resist,  she  bent  over  Irene,  and  kissed  her, 
saying,  "  What  are  those  words  about  the  ornament  of  a 
meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which  are  of  great  price  ?  Come, 
put  on  your  gloves,  and  let  us  go  down." 

The  wide  staircase  and  hall  were  brilliantly  lighted, 
and  flowers  in  stands,  and  flowers  in  pots,  were  massed 
together  on  all  sides,  and  perfumed  the  air  with  their 
fragrance.  As  the  guests  entered,  from  the  cold,  raw, 
January  night,  it  seemed  like  stepping  into  fairyland. 
Rosie  stood  by  her  mother  and  Sir  Philip  at  the  door  of 
the  first  room,  receiving  every  one  with  graceful  courtesy ; 
and,  as  Lady  Eugenia  and  Irene  passed  in,  Sir  Philip's 
eye  rested  on  them.  What  a  contrast  they  were ;  and 
who,  in  all  that  crowd,  could  look  at  Irene  a  second  time 
by  the  side  of  her  companion  ?  A  little  bantering  talk 
passed  between  Lady  Eugenia  and  Sir  Philip ;  and  then 
other  guests  arrived,  and  she  moved  on. 

Irene  stayed  by  Rosie ;  and,  as  Sir  Philip  was  ex- 
changing a  few  pleasant  words  with  a  stout  lady,  who 
was  one  of  the  many  Rodham  people  who  were  flattered 
by  the  invitation,  Irene  saw  old  Forrest  touch  Sir 
Philip's  arm.  She  heard  the  words,  "  In  the  study,  Sir 
Philip,  "  and  saw  that  a  card  was  put  into  his  hand. 
She  saw,  too,  that,  as  he  looked  at  it,  a  bewildered, 
puzzled  expression  passed  over  his  face.  He  turned  to 
Mrs.  Dennistoun,  and  saying,  "  I  will  return  directly," 
followed  old  Forrest  to  his  own  room,  in  the  other  wing 
of  Rockdeane. 

The  wax  candles  at  his  writing-table  were  lighted ; 
but,  after  the  brightness  and  splendour  of  the  other  part 
of  the  house,  the  room  looked  dark  and  dismal.  When 


SIR   JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  223 

Sir  Philip  entered  it,  standing  by  the  chimney-piece,  and 
leaning  against  it,  as  if  for  support,  was  a  young  man, 
with  a  pale,  haggard  face,  and  weak  eyes,  who  was 
nervously  twitching  at  the  wide-brimmed  felt  hat  he  held 
in  his  hand  :  and  whose  voice,  with  a  strong  colonial 
twang,  jarred  unpleasantly  on  Sir  Philip's  ear,  as  he  said  : 

"  I  went  to  the  lawyer's  first ;  but  I  heard  he  was 
here ;  so  I  came  on  at  once.  It  is  not  a  very  pleasant 
errand  for  me,  nor  for  you  neither." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Sir  Philip,  with  his  accustomed 
courtesy,  and  never  failing  pity  for  anything  weak  and 
and  feeble  ;  "  sit  down.  I  see  on  this  card,  my  servant 
has  brought  me,  a  name  which  I  do  not  know  :  Sir 
Jasper  Cleveland  Dennistoun.  Surely  there  is  some 
mistake." 

"  There  is  no  mistake ;  I  am  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun's 
grandson.  I  can't  help  it.  Of  course  it  will  be  very 
disagreeable  for  you,  and  you  no  end  of  a  swell,  and  all 
these  grand  folks  here ;  but  it's  no  mistake." 

"  That  will  appear  hereafter,"  said  Sir  Philip,  proudly ; 
"  do  I  understand  that  you  present  yourself  here  as  heir 
to  the  estates  and  title  of  the  late  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun  ? 
Such  a  claim  as  that  must  be  substantiated." 

"  There  will  be  no  trouble  about  it ;  "  and  the  boy,  for 
he  was  scarcely  more,  took  from  his  breast-pocket  a  black 
leather  case. 

"  The  whole  story  is  in  here,"  he  said.  "  The  copy  of 
the  marriage  certificate,  and  of  the  registers  of  my  father's 
birth  and  baptism.  My  old  grandmother  had  a  temper ; 
and  so  my  grandfather  soon  grew  tired  of  his  bargain. 
He  refused  to  bring  her  here  to  this  place,  Rockdeane,  as 
his  wife,  though  his  wife  she  was.  His  mother,  so  they 
say,  was  as  proud  as  a  peacock ;  and  there  was  an  awful  row 


224  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

when  her  daughter-in-law  tried  to  force  herself  in  here 
once.  On  condition  of  a  regular  allowance,  and  a  hand- 
some sum  to  start  with,  she  went  out  to  New  Zealand,  and 
there  she  died  some  months  ago.  She  and  I  were  both 
down  with  the  fever,  when  the  news  of  old  Sir  Jasper's 
death  came,  and  the  legacy  of  10,000?.  was  paid  into  the 
Bank  by  the  lawyer.  Nobody  knew  which  of  us  would  go 
first ;  but  the  old  lady  died,  and  I  lived.  It  might  have 
been  better  if  it  had  been  the  other  way,  especially  for  you." 

There  was  a  want  of  refinement  and  taste  about  the  boy, 
which  grated  on  Sir  Philip's  feelings  most  terribly ;  but 
at  the  same  time,  every  moment  seemed  to  strengthen 
his  faith  in  the  truth  of  his  statement 

"  I  was  carried  into  my  grandmother's  room,  and  laid 
down  by  her  side  on  her  bed.  She  took  from  under  her 
pillow  this  case,  and  charged  me  to  start  for  England  as 
soon  as  I  could  wind  up  the  affairs  of  the  farm,  and  come 
direct  to  Rockcleane.  She  made  me  swear  I  would,  and 
she  told  me  that  my  father  had  never  known  his  father 
was  an  English  baronet,  till  he  too  lay  dying.  Then  she 
told  him  the  truth,  and  promised  to  see  me  righted. 
There  was  a  duplicate  of  these  papers  in  the  old  man's 
possession.  Of  course  you  have  seen  them  1 " 

"  Do  you  suppose  it  is  possible?"  said  Sir  Philip,  with 
dignity.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  if  I  had  seen  them,  I 
should  have  taken  possession  here  1  But,  as  I  told  you, 
the  whole  story  shall  be  submitted  to  my  lawyers^ 
search  shall  be  instituted  for  the  duplicate  of  these  docu- 
ments, at  which  I  cannot  look  now  •  and  if  things  are 
as  you  say —  " 

"  You  needn't  doubt  me,  sir,"  said  the  youth,  a  touch 
of  honesty  of  purpose  kindling  in  his  plain  sallow  face ; 
"  I  never  told  a  lie  yet,  and  I  never  will.  I  should  have 


SIR  JASPER   ONCE   JIORE.  225 

been  much  happier  if  I  had  stayed  in  New  Zealand.  I 
have  been  brought  up  at  New  Cross  farm,  and  seen  it 
grow  to  what  it  is  ;  it  was  a  deal  more  to  my  taste  than 
this  place  would  be.  It  is  too  big  and  grand;  I  shall 
never  do  for  life  here." 

"  Well,"  Sir  Philip  said,  touched  by  the  boy's  man- 
ner, in  spite  of  the  voice  and  face,  which  were  alike 
unattractive,  "  as  you  see,  my  house  is  full  of  guests 
to-night.  I  am  giving  an  entertainment  on  a  large 
scale,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  much  hospitality  and 
kindness  which  has  been  shown  me  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood. I  will,  if  you  please,  order  refreshments  to 
be  bi'ought  for  you  here,  in  this  room ;  and  I  will  try 
to  communicate  with  Mr.  Williamson,  and  send  him  to 
you,  if  I  can  do  so  unnoticed.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to 
stay  any  longer  now ;  but  I  hope  you  will  rest,  and  take 
necessary  refreshment  before  you  return  to  Rodham." 

Something  of  the  greatness  of  Sir  Philip's  soul  seemed 
to  penetrate  the  boy,  as  he  looked  up  at  him  from  the 
depths  of  the  comfortable  chair,  into  which  he  had  sunk. 
Those  wonderful  eyes,  about  which  Mrs.  Henderson 
had  spoken,  seemed  to  read  him  through  and  through. 
He  almost  quailed  under  their  glance  ;  and  yet,  in  the 
answering  look  which  he  gave  back,  there  was  fully  as 
much  admiration  as  fear.  He  had  expected  something 
so  different — anger  and  a  fierce  determination  to  resist  his 
claim,  contempt  and  contumely.  Instead  of  these,  he 
met  dignified  kindness  and  forbearance ;  and  if  there 
was  doubt  as  to  the  validity  of  his  claim,  as  it  was  only 
natural  there  should  be,  it  was  scarcely  expressed  at  all, 
and  certainly  in  no  way  which  could  hurt  or  offend  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  enough,"  he  faltered;  "but  it  is  all  true; 
I  wish  it  wasn't,  For,  of  course,  every  one  will  sneer  and 


226  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

scoff  at  me  here.  My  grandmother  was  the  daughter  of 
poor  but  respectable  people  ;  and  though  there  is  a  great 
deal  to  be  said  to  her  honour,  of  course  that  will  be  cast 
up  against  me  amongst  all  these  great  folks.  My  own 
mother  I  can't  remember  ;  my  father  never  cared  much 
about  me.  And  I  have  no  friends ;  not  a  soul  who 
really  cares  whether  I  live  or  die.  I  swore  solemnly  to 
the  dead  to  come  here  and  assert  my  claim,  and  I  was 
bound  to  do  it ;  but — " 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  Sir  Philip 
could  see  that  he  was  trembling  in  every  limb.  He  laid 
his  hand  kindly  on  his  shoulders,  and  said, — 

"  We  must  both  nerve  ourselves  to  act  like  men  ;  and 
may  God  defend  the  right." 

Then  he  left  the  room ;  and  catching  sight  of  a  servant, 
sent  him  to  call  Forrest.  Old  Forrest  came,  his  face 
full  of  inquiry  and  eagerness, — 

"  Forrest,  will  you  see  that  the  gentleman  in  my  study 
has  some  wine  and  cold  meat  sent  in  to  him.  He  has 
travelled  a  long  distance,  and  has  only  recently  recovered 
from  an  illness.  Let  him  be  attended  to,  and  make  up 
the  fire  there,  and  light  some  more  candles." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Philip,"  said  the  old  man,  "certainly;"  and 
then  he  waited,  as  if  he  expected  more. 

But  Sir  Philip  passed  on ;  and  Forrest  wondered— 
"There  is  something  amiss,  there  is  something  wrong;  but, 
lor !  how  calm  he  is.  Well,  I  would  very  near  be  ready 
to  go  through  fire  and  water  for  him,  that  I  would." 

Sir  Philip  went  back  into  the  gay  crowd,  where  he 
was  anxiously  expected  by  Mrs.  Dennistoun  and  Rosie. 

'  Where  have  you  been,  Philip  ?  Do  you  know  how 
ate  it  is  ;  and  dancing  ought  to  have  begun  ?  But  you 
know  you  were  to  dance  the  first  quadrille  with  Lady 


SIR  JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  227 

Eugenia.  Lord  Scarstone,  too,  is  come,  and  Mr.  Bell- 
field.  Pray,  do  look  after  them.  Philip,  really  you 
take  it  very  easily ;  and  you  know  so  many  people  are 
here  who  will  be  ready  to  catch  at  little  deficiencies,  an(j 
be  offended." 

"  I  will  do  my  duty  now,"  Sir  Philip  said.  ' '  Jasper  " 
— and  the  very  name  recalled  the  other  Jasper,  who  was 
at  that  moment  in  his  study — "Jasper,  tell  the  band- 
master we  are  ready.  Come,  do  your  duty ;  and  see 
that  the  young  ladies  have  partners."  Then,  in  another 
minute,  he  had  led  Lady  Eugenia  to  her  place,  and  was 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening  perfect  as  a  host,  and  delight- 
ing every  one  with  his  genial  courtesy  and  kindness. 
No  one  was  forgotten ;  yet  no  one  felt  themselves  under 
the  pressure  of  forced  attentions.  "It  is  passing  away 
from  me,"  he  was  saying  to  himself;  "they  may  as  well 
carry  away  a  good  impression  of  it  all.  There  is  no  one 
to  suffer  personally  ;  that  is  the  great  comfort.  Rosie  will 
be  well  taken  care  of;  this  life  has  been  bad  for  Jasper  ; 
and  his  mother  will  soon  recover  from  the  disappoint- 
ment. If  there  had  been  one  nearer  to  me  to  whom  I 
must  have  told  this,  and  had  known  that  there  rx>uld 
have  been  humiliation  and  distress,  for  my  sake,  it 
would  have  been  very  hard."  And  as  these  thoughts 
passed  through  his  mind  his  eye  caught  a  wistful,  earnest 
glance  from  Irene. 

She  was  enjoying  herself  in  her  own  way  :  talking  to 
those  people  who  seemed  shy  and  solitary,  and  watching 
every  one  with  interest  and  pleasure.  It  was  nothing  to 
her  that  Margaret  Thornycroft  assured  her  the  theatrical 
party  at  Scarstone  Court  had  been  more  brilliant ;  and 
the  rooms  were  really  magnificent  there.  Nothing  to 
her  that  Mrs.  Tillett  talked,  behind  her,  to  one  of  her 
<J  2 


228  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

allies,  as  she  sat  on  the  same  ottoman,  of  Lady  Eugenia  Le 
Marchant  as  Helen's  most  intimate  friend ;  that,  although 
Helen  was  in  her  confidence,  she  really  could  not  say  how- 
matters  stood  between  her  and  Sir  Philip  ;  that  the 
Bishop  and  Lady  Catharine  had  dined  at  Eockdeane,  on 
the  previous  night,  but  had  not  stayed,  as  dear  Lady 
Catharine  was  so  good  and  conscientious  she  did  not 
quite  like  balls  for  Bishops'  wives ;  then,  really,  what  a 
number  of  people  there  were  in  the  room,  of  whom  she 
had  not  the  slightest  notion  who  they  were — Rodham 
people,  most  likely. 

And  at  that  moment  Sir  Philip  came  up  to  the  ottoman  ; 
and  Mrs.  Tillett,  expecting  he  was  coming  to  speak  to  her, 
stopped  short  in  her  conversation,  and  leaned  over  Irene 
— whose  presence  she  entirely  ignored — with  a  bland  smile. 
Great  was  her  surprise  when  Sir  Philip  seemed  as  entirely 
oblivious  of  her  as  she  had  been  of  Irene  ;  only  his  was 
perfectly  unaffected  oblivion,  and  thus  was  different. 

"  Will  you  let  me  speak  to  you  one  moment  1"  he  said, 
bending  over  her. 

Irene  rose.  He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  they  walked 
away  together. 

"Who  is  that?"  the  shy  girl,  to  whom  Irene  had 
been  talking,  heard  Mrs.  Tillett's  friend  inquire. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  it  is  Mr.  Williamson's  sister-in-law ;  a 
Miss  Clifford,  isn't  it,  May  1" 

"  Of  course  it  is,  Mamma  ;  you  must  surely  know  her." 

"  It  is  a  great  loss  if  you  do  not,"  put  in  another  voice, 
Lady  Eugenia's,  as  she  took  the  vacant  place  on  the 
ottoman.  "I  know  her  enough  to  make  me  want  to 
know  her  more.  She  is  altogether  delightful." 

"  I  thought  she  looked  very  nice,"  the  timid  questioner 
now  ventured  to  affirm.  And  Mrs.  Tillett,  so  great  in  he/ 


SIR   JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  229 

own  eyes — who  had  been  doing  her  best  to  be  grand 
and  dignified — felt  that  she  was  checkmated. 

This  is  a  hollow  and  foolish  world,  with  all  its  little 
miserable  rivalries  and  envies  and  jealousies.  Centuries 
ago  there  was  the  same  strife  going  on — who  should  be 
accounted  the  greatest.  And  the  same  voice  answers 
now  as  then.  And  the  palm  is  given  to  those  who  are 
lowly  in  their  own  eyes,  and  bear  about  with  them  a 
panoply  which  the  shafts  of  ill-nature,  or  silly,  empty 
self-exaltation,  are  powerless  to  pierce.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  we  women  are  more  prone  to  this  weak 
insistance  on  our  own  rights  and  supposed  dignities  than 
men.  But  could  a  pretentious  woman,  who  talks  to 
those  whom  she  is  pleased  to  consider  a  little  beneath 
her  in  the  social  scale,  with  the  air  of  superiority  about 
her  titled  acquaintances,  her  large  dinner-parties,  and 
her  numerous  retinue  of  servants,  know  how  infinitely 
small  she  becomes  in  the  effort  to  press  her  greatness  on 
others,  I  think  we  should  have  less  of  this  too  prevalent 
weakness  amongst  us  than  we  have.  There  are  those 
whom  we  call  nature's  gentlewomen,  who,  by  an  innate 
refinement,  are  preserved  from  falling  into  this  grievous 
offence  against  good  breeding ;  but  I  think  the  veiy 
best  code  of  manners  is  to  be  learned  only  in  that  school 
•where  grace  is  given  to  follow  the  very  highest  example 
that  the  world  ever  saw — even  His,  who  in  the  fullness 
of  a  love  which  knew  no  boundary,  but  was  alike  for 
rich  and  poor,  humbled  Himself  from  a  Throne  of  Infinite 
Glory  to  veil  that  glory  in  our  likeness,  and  to  live  a 
life  in  which  no  self-exaltation  or  self-pleasing  ever 
found  entrance. 

"  I  want  to  find  a  quiet  corner,"  Sir  Philip  said,  as  he 
and  Irene  moved  away,  "  to  ask  you  a  question.  Have 


230  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

you  missed  your  brother,  Mr.  Williamson,  from  the 
room  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Irene  said.  "  Is  anything  wrong  with  him  ? 
I  have  been  wondering  where  he  was." 

"  He  is  all  right,"  Sir  Philip  said.  "  I  hope  I  did  not 
make  you  think  otherwise ;  but  he  has  been  entertaining 
a  strange  and  unbidden  guest  in  my  study.  What  woiild 
you  say  if  you  heard  that  this  house,  with  all  the  lands 
and  money,  had  slipped  away  from  me,  and  that  I  was  no 
longer  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  but  plain  Philip  Dennis- 
toun,  of  the  Temple — once  more  ?  " 

The  colour  rushed  to  her  face,  and  a  strange  light  came 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  answered,— 

"  I  should  be  sorry  for  you,  if  you  cared  very  much ; 
but " 

"  Sorry  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  take  in  what  it 
would  entail  ?  I  must  give  up  place  and  influence ;  I 
must  be  food  for  hungry  gossips  for  at  least  nine  days  j  I 
must  be  discussed  in  all  my  bearings  !  Nay,  there  may 
be  some  that  will  say  I  have  had  a  suspicion  of  the  truth 
all  the  time,  and  have  kept  it  back.  For  Sir  Jasper 
Cleveland  Dennistoun  says  there  are  duplicate  copies  of 
the  documents  he  has  brought  here  to-night,  in  this 
house.  If  they  are  found,  the  whole  thing  will  be  as 
clear  as  day,  and  there  will  be  no  need  of  a  great  Dennis- 
toun case.  If  the  documents  are  not  forthcoming,  we 
shall  have  to  pause  ;  but  my  own  impression  is  that  there 
is  no  doubt  the  boy's  story  is  true, — he  is  little  more  than 
a  boy.  He  is  fresh  from  New  Zealand,  and  looks  like  a 
colonist ;  and,  far  more,  speaks  like  one  ;  but  I  believe 
he  is  honest." 

"  Did  you  say  from  New  Zealand  ? "  Irene  asked,  with 
sudden  earnestness. 


SIR  JASPER  ONCE   MORE.  231 

"  Yes.  Does  that  give  you  any  clue  1  What  can  you 
know  about  it  1 " 

"I  know  nothing;  but  some  time  ago  Mrs.  Bolton, 
the  chaplain's  wife  at  the  Almshouses,  showed  me  an 
entry  in  her  son's  diary,  who  died  at  Canterbury,  which 
she  thought  referred  to  some  one  of  the  name  of  Dennis- 
toun." 

"  And  you  never  told  anyone  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not ! "  she  answered,  emphatically. 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  curious  expression  of 
mingled  admiration  and  amusement. 

"So  like  you!"  he  said;  "you  are  not  one  to  cater 
for  gossip.  Well,  let  me  give  you  some  supper,  and  then 
I  must  go  off  on  my  round  again.  You  are  the  only  soul 
in  this  house  to  whom  I  have  confided  my  secret.  I  tell 
you,  that  you  may  talk  to  your  brother  about  it ;  I  need 
not  add,  to  no  one  else — words  thrown  away,  as  far  as 
you  are  concerned.  I  must  leave  you  now  ; "  for  Jasper 
touched  his  sleeve, — 

"  Philip,  old  Lady  Scarstone  is  going.  Pray  come,  and 
see  her  to  the  carriage.  I  think  she  is  huffy  because 
you  were  not  at  the  door  when  they  came  in." 

"  You  little  ready-made  man  of  the  world ! "  was 
the  answer.  "  Don't  be  fussy,  my  boy.  Old  Lady 
Scarstone  is  not  likely  to  take  wings,  or  vanish  into  thin 
air." 

"  How  amusing  Sir  Philip  is ! "  exclaimed  Margaret 
Thornycroft,  who  had  just  been  deposited  at  the  table  by 
Irene's  side ;  "  you  seem  as  confidential  with  him  as  ever, 
Miss  Clifford.  Lady  Eugenia  will  be  jealous." 

Irene  had  a  quiet  way  of  ignoring  ill-bred  speeches  like 
these,  which  was  infinitely  provoking  to  young  women  of 
Margaret  Thornycroft's  type. 


232  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  What  a  lovely  fern  that  is  !"  she  said,  "just  opposite 
us." 

Margaret  Thornycroft  did  not  condescend  to  answer. 
She  turned  away  to  her  neighbour  on  the  other  side,  and 
•was  soon  in  her  element — laughing  and  giggling  like  any 
schoolgirl  waiting  for  her  German  class  to  begin.  Not 
that  Margaret  Thornycroft's  school-days  were  recent ;  it 
was  a  good  many  years  since  she  had  sat  at  a  desk  and 
learned  her  lessons.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  they  had 
been  learned  to  so  little  purpose. 

At  last  it  was  all  over ;  the  rooms  were  empty  and 
deserted.  The  servants  had  put  out  the  lamps  and  the 
wax -lights,  and  had  gone  tired  to  bed  ;  but  Sir  Philip 
Dennistoun  still  sat  in  the  study  at  his  writing-table. 

The  large  house  was  silent  and  quiet,  and  the  ticking 
of  a  heavy  old-fashioned  clock  in  the  great  hall  could  be 
distinctly  heard.  For  how  many  years  had  it  ticked  its 
unchanging  song  ! — "never — forever:  for  ever — never  !" 
now,  just  as  it  had  done  when  old  Sir  Jasper  had  put 
his  hand  to  the  documents  which  had  been  safely  pre- 
served in  the  old-fashioned  black  leather  case  for  so 
many,  many  years. 

They  were  lying  before  Philip  now,  and  were  endorsed — 
"  Copy  of  my  marriage  certificate,"  "  Copy  of  the  register 
in  the  parish  church  of  St.  Margaret's,  Loughboro',  of 
the  baptism  of  my  son,  Jasper  Denuistoun."  Then  there 
was  a  statement,  written  on  old  dark-blue  paper,  in  the 
handwriting  which  had  become  familiar  to  Philip,  by 
inscriptions  in  books,  scraps  of  translation  in  Greek 
verse,  and  some  few  letters.  It  was  as  follows  : — 

"  Finding  it  incompatible  with  my  own  happiness  to 
live  with  my  wife,  Susan  Dennistoun — she  refusing  to  see 


SIR   JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  233 

me  at  stated  times,  and  insisting  on  her  right  to  come  to 
this  house,  Rockdeane,  and  be  there  acknowledged  before 
the  world  as  Lady  Dennistoun — I  have  determined  to 
part  from  her  and  the  infant,  my  son,  under  the  follow- 
ing agreement.  She  promises  to  go  out  to  the  settle- 
ment in  New  Zealand,  and  remain  there  until  the 
death  of  my  mother,  or  as  much  longer  as  I  shall  desire, 
calling  herself  Susan  Cleveland,  and  the  infant,  her  son, 
Jasper  Dennistoun  Cleveland.  On  my  side,  I  promise  to 
pay  to  the  said  Susan  Dennistoun,  under  the  name  of 
Cleveland,  through  my  family  lawyer,  James  Balfour, 
the  sum  of  three  hundred  pounds  yearly,  and  a  further 
sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  be  invested  by  her  in  the 
purchase  of  land  in  the  colony  and  the  stocking  of  a 
farm  to  be  raised  on  that  land.  I  further  agree  to  pay 
a  reasonable  amount  for  the  education  of  my  son,  if  he 
lives  to  need  it.  And  further,  at  my  death,  these  docu- 
ments shall  be  produced,  and  my  son  acknowledged  as  my 
lawful  heir  to  the  estates  and  moneys  connected  with  and 
belonging  to  the  ancient  baronetcy  of  which  I  am  the 
representative,  and  to  the  residence,  and  all  that  it  con- 
tains, known  as  Rockdeane,  all  in  the  outlying  parish  of 
the  Cathedral  City  of  Rodham,  in  the  county  of  Cumber- 
land. If  either  of  the  two  persons  concerned  in  the 
agreement  break  faith  with  the  other,  the  provisions 
therein  made  are  forfeited. 

"  Signed,  in  the  presence  of  me, 

"JAMES  BALFOUR, 

"JASPER  PHILIP  DEXXISTOUX,  Bart. 
"  SUSAN  DEXXISTOUX,  alias  CLEVELAND. 

On  the  eighth  day  of  September,  anno  Domini  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  twenty-one." 


234  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

These  papers  were  enclosed  in  another,  in  which  were 
written  several  entries,  evidently  made  at  different  times. 
The  handwriting  was  fine  and  pointed,  and  the  spelling 
defective. 

"  Duplicates  of  these  papers  are  lodged  in  the  hands  of 
my  husband,  Jasper  Dennistoun. 

"Married  this  day,  May  3rd,  18 — ,  my  son 
Jasper  Cleveland  Dennistoun  to  Emily  Barrett,  daughter 
of  Captain  Barrett,  R.N. 

"Born  May  10th,  18 — ,  my  grandson,  who  was 
baptized  June  25th,  Jasper  Cleveland  Dennistoun." 

Then  came  the  last. 

"The  child,  Jasper,  is  all  that  is  left  to  me ;  his  father 
and  his  mother  are  both  taken  from  me.  Call  me  Marah. 
If  I  die  before  Sir  J.  P.  D.,  he  is  to  convey  these  papers 
to  him,  and  present  himself  as  his  lawful  heir. — Susan 
Dennistoun." 

So  long  separated  in  life ;  in  death  they  were  not  long 
divided.  What  a  story  lay  revealed  in  those  old  time- 
worn  papers  ! — a  story  of  wrong  and  misdoing,  of  conceal- 
ment, and  of  wilful  cutting  himself  off  from  all  the 
dearer  and  closer  ties  of  life.  No  wonder  that  the  man 
lived  and  died  solitary ;  no  wonder  that  he  cared  to 
see  no  one,  and  that  few  had  access  to  him.  Long  and 
thoughtfully  did  Philip  Dennistoun  ponder  over  those 
papers,  and  every  time  he  read  them  the  more  convinced 
he  became  of  the  certainty  of  his  own  position.  He  saw 
all  that  was  before  him  ;  and  I  think  he  knew  then,  for 
the  first  time,  how  much  he  had  really  cared  for  that 
which,  when  it  was  his,  seemed  of  no  very  great  value  in 
his  eyes.  The  resignation  of  his  lately  won  seat  in  the 
House,  that  power  of  doing  good  which  money  always 
brings,  the  business  details  that  must  be  gone  through,  the 


SIB  JASPER   ONCE   MORE.  235 

giving  up  of  Rockdeane,  and  the  house  in  Grosvenor 
Crescent ;  the  effort  which  he  must  make  to  return  to 
his  work  as  a  barrister — work  which  he  had  liked  well 
enough,  but  which  was,  nevertheless,  he  knew,  drudgery 
and  lacked  all  the  excitement  and  relish  which  had 
surrounded  him  of  late.  Then  there  was  the  verdict  of 
the  world  to  meet — that  relentless  and  pitiless  judge, 
which,  reason  as  we  will,  we  all  dread.  To  be  hidden 
from  the  strife  of  tongues  when  any  great  change  is  passing 
over  our  lives,  has  been  the  felt,  if  not  the  expressed 
desire  of  most  of  us.  Pity  and  praise  alike  are  distasteful 
to  us,  and  the  feeling  that  we  are  canvassed  by  the  world, 
"  which  is  all  eye  and  ear,"  and  "  has  such  a  stupid  tongue 
to  blare  its  own  interpretation,"  has  added  a  sharp  sting 
to  many  a  trouble.  Well;  it  must  all  be  met  and  faced, 
was  Sir  Philip's  last  thought,  as  he  folded  the  papers,  and 
put  them  back  into  their  case,  before  locking  them  away 
securely  in  his  desk. 

Met !  and  how  ?  and  then  the  words  came  back  which 
he  had  heard  spoken  by  those  gentle  lips — "  Those  that 
wait  shall  renew  their  strength."  And  before  the  wintry 
dawn  had  struggled  into  the  room  through  the  chinks  of 
the  shutters,  Philip  Dennistoun  had  renewed  his  strength, 
and,  no  longer  faint,  was  ready  to  pursue  and  to  win  in 
the  fight  which  lay  before  him. 

The  guests  at  Rockdeane  saw  but  little  of  their 
host  that  day.  Forster  Williamson  arrived  early, 
and  they  were  closeted  together  till  luncheon  time. 

"  I  can  find  nothing  amongst  Mr.  Balfour's  papers 
which  at  all  bears  on  this  matter,"  Mr.  Williamson  said  ; 
"  and,  unless  the  duplicates  of  those  I  read  last  night  are 
forthcoming,  that  youth's  claim  cannot  be  said  to  be 


236  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

established.  I  saw  him  at  the  Mitre  Hotel  before  I  came 
out  here  this  morning ;  he  looks  very  ill — almost  as  if  he 
would  not  live,  I  think." 

"He  will  live,"  Philip  said;  "and  I  hope  do  well. 
I  judge  him  to  be  honest,  but  not  over  vigorous  either  in 
mental  or  bodily  power.  We  can  send  to  Loughborough, 
you  know,  and  identify  the  baptismal  and  marriage 
registers,  if  they  exist  there." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,  and  I  mean  to  start  myself 
by  the  night  train  ;  and  I  think,  Sir  Philip,  till  we  have 
identified  that  part  of  the  story,  we  may  keep  our  own 
counsel." 

"  But  we  must  try  to  find  the  duplicate  of  these 
papers.  Shall  we  take  old  Forrest  into  confidence  1 
I  think  he  and  Mrs.  Mason  must  have  suspicions,  and  old 
Smith  also.  He  was  very  ill  yesterday.  He  may  have  an 
idea  of  some  secret  place  where  the  old  man  kept  his 
papers.  Will  you  go  with  me,  and  see  him  1  I  don't 
think  he  has  long  to  live." 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service  to-day ;  and  from  what 
Irene  told  me  of  Mrs.  Bolton,  and  also  of  a  conversation 
Mr.  Sandford  had  with  an  innkeeper  in  the  neighbourhood, 
I  expect  there  was  once  a  rumour  afloat  that  Sir  Jasper 
•vvas  married.  Irene,  too,  mentioned  the  wandering  of  an 
old  woman  in  Hildyard's  Almshouses,  when  she  was 
dying.  She  was  the  old  sexton's  second  wife,  and  she 
talked  on  that  last  day  of  some  one  she  called  Susan,  and 
of  her  falling  down  some  precipice,  and  her  efforts  to  save 
her.  Then  one  of  the  other  pensioners  said  something 
about  the  curious  coincidence  that  this  old  Mrs.  Gillett 
should  die  on  the  morning  of  Sir  Jasper's  funeral  But 
it  is  no  use  going  over  the  ground  again  here." 


SIR  JASPEB   ONCE   MORE.  237 

That  day  was  passed  by  Sir  Philip  and  Mr.  Williamson 
in  gathering  together  all  the  evidence  which  it  seemed 
wonderful  had  been  hitherto  withheld. 

Old  Smith  knew  it ;  of  course  he  knew  it,  that  Sir 
Jasper  had  got  into  a  scrape,  when  he  was  not  so  young 
either  ;  that  he  caught  a  tartar,  and  sent  her  packing. 
For  it  was  said  she  had  a  temper  like  a  demon,  though  a 
face  like  an  angel.  It  was  not  for  him  to  say  anything  ; 
besides,  he  heard  the  son  was  dead  out  in  foreign  parts. 
It  was  so  many  years  gone  by,  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

Mrs.  Bolton's  evidence  was,  to  Sir  Philip's  mind,  the 
most  conclusive.  The  whole  story  tallied  so  precisely  with 
the  one  the  youth  himself  told. 

Then  came  evasive  answers  from  Dr.  Simpson,  from 
which  little  could  be  gathered,  and  little  as  it  was,  it  was 
irritating  alike  from  its  vagueness  and  caution. 

By  dinner-time  that  night,  Philip  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  all  doubt  was  over — he  was  not  the  rightful 
heir  to  Rockdeaue ;  and  that  there  was  nothing  left 
but  to  relinquish  speedily  that  which  he  had  ignorantly 
held  for  sixteen  months.  He  listened  to  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
descanting  on  the  advantages  of  the  house  in  Grosvenor 
Crescent ;  he  heard  Rosie  talking,  with  girlish  pleasure, 
of  her  coming  introduction  into  the  gay  world,  —  her 
presentation  at  Court,  and  her  rides  in  the  park,  and 
operas,  and  parties  ;  he  listened  to  Lady  Eugenia's  bright 
conversation,  and  felt  like  one  in  a  dream.  The  time 
must  come  when  he  would  have  to  dispel  the  illusion, 
and  tell  Rosie  and  Jasper  and  their  mother  that  they 
must  descend  with  him  from  all  the  bright  and  pleasant 
things  in  which  they  had  delighted  to  the  sober  reality 
of  the  commonplace  everyday  life  which  they  had  shared 


238  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

together,  for  so  many  years,  in  Codrington  Villas, 
Kensington. 

"Do  not  tell  anyone  how  matters  stand,  till  these 
documents  are  forthcoming ;  for,  unless  they  are  found, 
some  time  must  elapse  before  the  claimant's  case  can 
be  made  out." 

So  Mr.  Williamson  had  said  in  parting  that  evening, 
before  he  started  for  Loughborough  ;  and,  resting  on  his 
advice,  Philip  kept  silence. 

Irene  went  back  to  Ecclestone  Square,  Lady  Eugenia 
to  Bishop's  Court.  The  household  at  Rockdeane  were 
alone  for  the  first  time  for  some  weeks,  and  Philip  heard 
them  talking  over  the  necessary  preparations  before 
going  to  London  ;  and  knew  that,  inevitably,  those  pre- 
parations would  be  very  different  to  what  they  contem- 
plated. 

On  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  Forster  Williamson 
returned  from  Loughborough  with  the  copy  of  the  bap- 
tismal and  marriage  register  in  his  hand,  and  was  met 
by  Philip  with  a  smile,  half  sad  and  half  triumphant. 
He  took  him  into  the  study,  where  old  Sir  Jasper  had 
fallen  down  in  the  attack  which  ended  in  death  ;  and, 
pointing  to  a  panel  in  the  wall  just  above  the  place  where 
Sir  Jasper's  chair  had  always  stood,  said, — 

"  I  found  that  this  panel  opened  by  a  spring,  and  my 
attention  was  drawn  to  it  by  this  little  mark  in  the  oak" 
— pointing  to  a  small  worn  spot  on  one  side.  "  Look  ! " 
he  said ;  and,  pressing  it  inwards,  a  small  door  opened, 
and  the  secrets  of  the  dead  were  revealed.  A  heap  of 
yellow  faded  papers  lay  on  small  shelves,  and  Philip  took 
a  bundle  from  the  lowest  tier, — the  duplicate  copies  of 
the  contents  of  that  black  case  in  Mr.  Williamson's  pos- 
session, and  several  additional  documents,  which  proved, 


SIR  JASPEK  ONCE   MORE.  239 

indeed,  that  Susan  Cleveland  had  been  his  -wife,  and 
that  young  Jasper  Cleveland  Dennistoun  was  his  heir, 
by  direct  descent. 

Philip  recalled  the  \vords  in  the  Prayer-book,  marked 
by  the  trembling  old  hand,  so  soon  to  be  still  for  ever  : 
"Against  Thee — Thee  only,  have  I  sinned  1" 


CHAPTER  XI. 


GREAT  NEWS  FOE  KODHAM. 

"  His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mixed  in  him,  that  nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world, — 

This  was  a  Man  /" 

SHAKSPEAEE. 

AND  at  last  Rodham  rang  with  the  news — the  great  news 
— that  Rockdeane  was  to  have  another  master  ;  that  the 
member  for  the  Eastern  Division  of  the  county  would 
never  take  his  seat  in  the  House,  where  such  grand 
things  had  been  expected  of  him ;  that  he  had  been  in 
possession,  for  sixteen  months,  of  a  title  and  estates  to 
which  he  had  no  right ;  and  that  the  grandson  of  the 
old  Sir  Jasper  had  appeared  to  claim  his  own.  It  seems 
needless  to  rehearse  here  all  the  wonder  and  surprise  and 
all  the  remarks  and  gossip  which  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course.  We  all  know,  too  well,  how  the  love  of  talk,  for 
talking's  sake,  is  stirred  in  a  town  or  city  by  a  less  event 
than  this.  From  the  good  old  Bishop,  to  the  "Warden  of 
Hildyard's  Almshouses — from  Sir  Wilton  St.  John,  to  the 
smallest  tenant-farmer  of  the  neighbourhood — from  Mrs. 
Tillett,  the  banker's  wife,  to  the  sister  of  the  humblest 
clerk  in  the  office  of  the  National  Provincial  Bank — from 
the  magnificent  tradesman  who  had  furnished  that  gor- 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  241 

geous  funeral  for  the  late  baronet,  to  the  small  linen- 
draper  who  was  proud  to  count  Mrs.  Mason  amongst  his 
regular  customers,  a  thrill  of  wonder  and  surprise  ran 
with  electric  power. 

It  was,  indeed,  so  extraordinary  ;  and  how  uncomfort- 
able for  Mrs.  Dennistoun ;  and  how  disappointing  for  the 
pretty  girl  who  had  been  so  admired  !  They  had  all  been 
so  pleased  with  their  new  position,  and  had  made  it  so 
evident,  it  was  really  most  trying  for  them.  But  how 
strange  that  Sir  Philip  (it  was  difficult  to  call  him  Mr. 
Dennistoun)  had  never  discovered  the  papers  till  the 
others  had  been  produced  from  New  Zealand.  It  was 
really  more  than  extraordinary  that  Mr.  Williamson 
knew  nothing  of  them,  and  that  they  should  turn  up  so 
soon  after  the  original  documents  were  produced.  It 
was  quite  evident,  too,  that  Sir  Philip  was  determined  to 
make  no  stand  against  the  claim  or  dispute  it.  It  showed 
how  thoroughly  convinced  he  was  that  the  claimant  had 
a  strong  case. 

Then  followed  the  story  of  the  claimant  himself :  his 
low  origin  on  one  side — hardly  atoned  for  by  the  ancient 
name  he  bore.  Nevertheless,  Rodham  knew  that  he 
must  be  accepted,  and  prepared  to  leave  an  unlimited 
amount  of  cardboard  at  Rockdeane  when  the  right 
time  arrived.  When  would  it  arrive  1  and  how  soon 
would  the  Dennistouns  leave  Rockdeane  1  It  must  be 
so  exceedingly  unpleasant  for  them  to  remain  there  in  a 
false  position.  Sir  Philip  looked  very  ill — so  those  said 
who  had  seen  him — and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  been  in 
Dr.  Simpson's  hands  ever  since  the  night  of  that  great 
entertainment.  What  a  pity  it  had  been  given  ;  for  on 
that  very  evening  the  blow  had  fallen. 

And  so  the  little  world  of  Rodham  conjectured  and 
B 


242  HEIGHTS   AXD   VALLEYS. 

apostrophised,  and  pitied,  and  deprecated,  and  wondered, 
as  all  the  little  worlds  in  which  we  cast  in  our  lot  will 
continue  to  do,  in  like  circumstances,  to  the  end  of 
time. 

It  was  with  a  strange  feeling  of  the  change  which  was 
at  hand,  that  Philip  Dennistoun  rode  at  a  leisurely  pace 
through  the  High  Street  of  Eodham,  two  days  after 
that  on  which  the  papers  had  been  discovered,  and  the 
copies  of  the  registers  had  been  brought  to  him  by  Forster 
Williamson.  If  he  did  not  look  as  ill  as  Rodham  reported 
he  did,  he  looked  very  grave,  as  he  stopped  before  the 
door  of  the  Mitre,  and  giving  his  horse  into  the  care  of  the 
ostler,  who  hastened  to  meet  it,  he  asked  of  the  waiter 
if  he  could  see  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Philip,"  was  the  man's  puzzled 
answer ;  but  the  master  of  the  hotel,  with  significant 
haste,  interposed. 

"Of  course;  No.  21.  "Will  you  please  follow  me,  Sir 
Philip  r 

He  preceded  Philip  to  the  end  of  a  long  passage,  and 
the  door  of  one  of  the  small  sitting-rooms  was  thrown 
open,  and  Philip  heard  himself  announced  in  the  hotel- 
keeper's  grandest  manner. 

Crouching  over  the  fire,  in  an  idle,  despondent  fashion, 
sat  the  rightful  heir  to  the  Dennistoun  title  and  estates. 
He  rose,  when  Philip  went  up  to  him,  and  bowed  in  a 
confused,  shy  way. 

Philip  held  out  his  hand,  and  said,^ 

"  I  am  afraid  yoxi  are  still  very  much  of  an  invalid. ' 

"  Yes  ;  I  feel  very  ill,  and  miserable." 

It  came  out  with  all  the  petulance  of  a  child. 

Philip  took  the  big  arm  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fire,  and  said, — 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  243 

"You  will  have  heard  from  Mr.  Williamson  that  the 
documents  are  found  ;  and  the  copies  of  the  marriage  and 
baptismal  registers  at  Loughborough  are  in  our  possession. 
I  have  come  to-day  to  ask  what  your  wishes  are  about 
Eockdeane,  and  when  you  will  desire  to  take  possession 
there." 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  must  leave  it  to  you  to  decide." 

"  I  should  have  thought  it  was  the  other  way,"  said 
Philip,  with  a  smile.  "  You  know  you  are  now  the  head 
of  the  family,  and  the  single  fact  that  you  have  been 
called  all  your  life,  and  your  father  before  you,  Cleveland 
instead  of  Dennistoun  is  the  only  possible  difficulty,  in  a 
legal  point  of  view,  to  your  succession  to  the  title  and 
estates  of  your  grandfather.  I  shall  not  raise  the  objec- 
tion, and  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  one  else  who  is 
likely  to  do  it ;  so  you  are  as  secure  in  your  position  as 
you  can  desire.  It  was  my  intention  to  go  to  London  in. 
the  first  week  of  February,  and  I  still  propose  to  do  so  ; 
you  can  then  quietly  take  possession  there.  And  as  all 
the  improvements  and  the  modern  furniture  and  decora- 
tions were  paid  for  out  of  the  estate,  which  was  never 
mine,  you  need  have  no  difficulty  about  it .  The  house 
in  Grosvenor  Crescent  you  may  not  be  disposed  to  take 
just  yet ;  it  can  be  let.  But  all  these  business  arrange- 
ments may  be  better  carried  out  by  my  friend,  Mr. 
Williamson.  There  are  just  two  or  three  things  which  I 
should  like  to  see  finished  :  the  restoration  of  the  chapel 
at  Hildyard's  Almshouses,  and  provision  made  for  a 
chaplain  ;  and  the  building  of  the  little  church  for  the 
hamlet  of  Rockdeane,  to  provide  the  tenantry  with  what 
they  have  much  needed,  a  church  within  easy  reach  of 
their  homes." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  I  will  do  it,  and  anything  else  you 
B  2 


244  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

wish,  except  give  great  parties  and  swell  dinners — I  shan't 
be  fit  for  that ;  but  I  should  like  some  farming  to  do,  it 
•will  be  more  in  my  way.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  be 
alone  in  the  world,  in  a  strange  country,  and  not  a  soul 
to  care  for  me  ;  only  some  to  wish  perhaps  I  had  never 
come  in  the  way  at  alL  How  you  must  hate  me  !" 

Sir  Philip  had  risen,  and  now  stood  by  the  boy's  chair. 
What  a  contrast  they  were, — the  one  so  puny  and  feeble, 
and  undecided;  the  other  the  very  personification  of  firm, 
well-knit  manhood,  and  resolute  will  and  strength,  both 
of  body  and  mind.  Hate  that  poor  boy  !  No  ;  Philip 
Dennistoun  could  never  hate  any  thing  so  poor  and  de- 
pendent j  especially  when  any  appeal  was  made  to  him 
for  help  and  protection. 

"Jasper  Dennistoun,"  he  said,  calling  him  emphatically 
by  his  name,  "  let  no  unkindly  thoughts  rise  between  us. 
You  cannot  help  the  sin  of  concealment  for  which  your 
grandfather  is  alone  answerable ;  and  he  is  gone  before  a 
Judge  who  sees  not  as  we  see.  You  cannot  help  the 
position  in  which  you  are  placed,  coming,  after  sixteen 
months'  security,  to  dispossess  me  of  what  was  never 
really  mine.  I  took  possession  in  the  fullest  faith  of  the 
justice  of  my  claim  ;  you  come  to  show  me  my  mistake, 
in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  the  dead,  and  you  do  well 
to  assert  yourself.  Let  there  be  no  thought  of  antagon- 
ism or  dislike  between  us.  Why  should  there  be  1  Let 
us  be  friends." 

I  have  no  words  to  tell  how  Sir  Philip's  overture  was 
received.  Surprise  and  pleasure  and  gratitude  struggled 
with  a  sort  of  desolate  pride  and  sense  of  isolation  which, 
in  a  weak  and  futile  way,  the  poor  boy  seemed  to  think 
it  was  dignified  to  show.  But  it  would  not  do.  The  power 
of  the  great  kingly  soul,  with  all  its  generous  impulses 


GREAT   NEWS    FOR   RODHAM.  245 

and  kindliness  and  self-forgetfulness,  was  too  much  for 
him.  Jasper  seized  the  hand  outstretched  to  him,  and 
said, — 

"  I  would  do  anything  for  you.  Do  help  me  to  do  what 
is  right  and  proper." 

"  I  will,"  said  Philip  ;  "  and  while  I  live  you  may 
count  011  me  as  your  friend.  How  old  are  you  ?" 

"  Not  twenty  yet — not  till  next  May." 

"  Well,  then,  I  advise  you  to  enter  yourself  at  Oxford 
or  Cambridge,  and  keep  your  terms  there.  You  will  be 
more  likely  to  fit  yourself  for  your  position  than  by  shut- 
ting yourself  up  in  Rockdeane." 

"  Perhaps  I  might ;  but  I  shall  be  so  chaffed  and 
bullied,  because,  you  see,  I  know  I  fall  short  of  what 
people  might  expect  me  to  be.  I  have  never  been  used  to 
grand  ways  or  swells  and  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Then  try  to  fit  yourself  to  take  your  place  amongst 
the  best,  if  not  amongst  the  swells,"  said  Philip,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  and,  now,  good-bye  ;  for  I  have  a  great  deal  on 
hand,  and  I  have  many  things  to  look  after,  before  I  turn 
my  back  finally  on  Rockdeane." 

"  Don't  say  finally,"  said  poor  Sir  Jasper,  following 
Philip  to  the  door  like  a  spaniel ;  "  you  will  come  there 
whenever  you  choose,  and " 

"All  right,"  said  Philip,  cheerfully  ;  and  then  he  was 
soon  on  his  horse  again,  and  was  riding  at  a  quick  pace 
towards  Bishop's  Court.  He  felt  that  this  was  a  visit 
which  would  be  expected  of  him  ;  and  the  sooner  it  was 
got  over  the  better. 

Lady  Catharine  was  very  kind,  she  could  never  be 
anything  else.  But  she  was  flurried  and  nervous ;  and, 
as  Philip  heard  himself  announced  under  the  old  style 
and  title,  he  felt  it  must  be  for  the  last  time.  Lady 


246  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Eugenia  came  into  the  room  just  after  the  bell  had  rung 
for  luncheon;  and,  as  the  Bishop  was  away  with  his 
Chaplain,  there  were  only  three  at  the  table. 

There  was  a  constraint  upon  eveiy  one,  which  poor 
Lady  Catharine  tried  to  break  through,  by  a  continuous 
flow  of  small  talk,  and  which  seemed  to  hold  Lady 
Eugenia  spellbound. 

I  wonder  if  I  can  make  Philip's  feelings  intelligible 
about  Lady  Eugenia ;  but  they  are  difficult  to  define. 
That  he  admired  her,  and  found  her  a  pleasant  and 
attractive  companion  in  the  hour  of  prosperity,  there  can 
be  no  doubt.  When  Irene  had,  as  he  fancied,  been  cold 
and  distant  in  her  manner,  it  was  agreeable  to  resort  to  a 
woman  who  was  never  tired  of  entering  into  his  schemes 
and  plans — into  his  achievements,  possible  or  impossible. 
All  languor  would  vanish  from  Lady  Eugenia's  manner 
when  he  appeared  ;  all  her  little  petulance  and  half- 
invalid  querulousness  would  melt  away ;  and  she  would, 
apparently,  forget  herself  in  him  and  his  interests.  But 
never  for  a  moment  did  she  really  forget  herself.  She 
saw  in  Philip  a  man  who  would  help  her  upwards  in  the 
steep  and  somewhat  difficult  ascent  of  worldly  distinc- 
tion. ;  but  there  was  nothing  deeper  behind.  She  had 
felt  as  if  every  proud  dream,  and  every  grand  vision  of 
success  and  pre-eminence,  was  centred  in  him — Sir  Philip 
Dennistoun,  of  Rockdeane — whose  name  would  soon  be 
known  in  Parliament,  and  who,  with  riches  and  talents, 
might  carry  all  before  him.  As  such,  Eugenia  Le  Mar- 
chant  would  have  been  ready,  had  he  asked  her,  to  cast 
in  her  lot  with  his;  but  now  it  was  a  very  different 
thing,  and  she  did  not  hide  it  from  herself.  Nor  was 
Philip  surprised  that,  when  they  were  left  together  in  the 
drawing-room,  as  they  had  often  been  left  on  previous 


GEEAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  247 

occasions,  Eugenia  said,  as  if  it  were  the  most  ordinary 
thing  in  the  world  : 

"  So  you  are  going  away  from  Rockdeane  '  for  good,' 
as  the  children  say  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  going;  leaving  another  Sir 
Jasper  in  the  place  of  the  old  one." 

"  Or  in  yours  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Or  in  mine ;  only  the  place  was  never  mine,  strictly 
speaking ;  and  I  was  under  a  delusion  the  whole  time." 

"  What  is  Sir  Jasper  like  ? "  And  then  her  lip 
quivered  a  little,  as  she  gave  the  title  to  another,  which 
had  hitherto  been  Philip's. 

"  What  is  he  like  ?  Rather  like  my  brother  Jasper. 
He  does  not  look  much  older ;  and  is  fair,  with  light  hair, 
that  critics  might  call '  sandy.'  He  has  a  twang  of  the 
colonies  in  his  voice,  and  is  not  what  you  may  call 
attractive ;  but  I  believe  the  boy's  heart  is  in  the  right 
place,  and  I  believe  he  is  honest,  which  is  saying  some- 
thing in  these  degenerate  days." 

"  I  wonder  you  have  submitted  so  calmly  to  all  this," 
she  said,  almost  impatiently ;  "I  do  so  wonder  you  did 
not  assert  yourself — did  not  resist  the  claim.  You 
might  have  handed  down  a  cause  celebre  for  posterity, 
you  know." 

"  Scarcely ;  for  there  is  no  case  to  make  out  for  the 
defendant ;  the  whole  thing  is  clear  enough." 

"  And  who  is  to  take  your  seat  in  the  House ;  or, 
rather,  sit  where  you  might  have  sat,  and  would  not  1 " 

"  Oh  !  that  I  do  not  know.  I  have  issued  an  address, 
which  you  may  read  to-morrow  j  but  I  have  left  all  the 
arrangements  in  my  lawyer's  hands." 

"  I  can't  think  why  you  should  resign  your  seat ;  you 
ought  to  have  kept  it." 


248  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  I  could  not ;  I  must  now  work  hard  again,  for  my 
own  living — work,  as  I  was  working  when  the  sixteen 
months'  grandeur  interposed.  Not  that  I  dislike  work, 
as  you  know." 

She  did  know,  but  she  made  no  sign ;  her  head  was 
bent  over  her  work,  and  she  was  apparently  engrossed 
with  it.  Then  there  was  silence  ;  and  Philip  felt  there 
was  no  more  to  say.  He  had  been  more  frequently  in 
that  room  at  Bishop's  Court  than  any  in  the  neighbour- 
hood during  the  last  few  months;  everything  had  become 
familiar  to  him,  and,  like  all  familiar  things,  was 
pleasanter  than  he  knew  till  the  moment  when  it  was 
passing  away  for  ever.  He  was  going  back  into  the  toil 
and  drudgery  of  life — out  of  what  had  been  like  a 
dream.  It  was  like  a  sudden  descent  from  a  mountain 
top  to  the  valley  beneath ;  and  yet  something  told  him 
that,  step  by  step,  there  was  a  nobler  and  better  life 
stretched  out  before  him  than  that  to  which  he  had  been 
so  lately  raised,  and  from  which  he  was  so  soon  deposed. 

He  rose  at  last,  and  said  :  "  May  I  ring  for  my  horse 
to  be  brought  round  ?  I  have  to  pay  several  other  visits 
before  dinner." 

"  Won't  you  wait,  and  see  Aunt  Catharine  ? "  Eu- 
genia asked,  in  a  tone  the  weariness  of  which  struck 
him  ;  "  perhaps  she  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 

But  his  hand  was  on  the  bell,  and  he  did  not  volunteer 
to  wait.  Very  soon  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet  was 
heard  ;  and  he  went  up  to  Eugenia. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  ;  u  I  have  had  many  happy  hours 
at  Bishop's  Court,  for  which  I  must  thank  you.  If  we 
do  not  meet  again,  I  must  give  you  that  comprehensive 
benediction,  which  seems  to  include  everything,  and  say, 
'  God  bless  vou."* 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  249 

She  did  not  stir  or  move  ;  her  hand  lay  quietly  in  his, 
and  scarcely  returned  its  pressure. 

"  Good-bye  ;  give  my  love  to  Rosie  and  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun ; "  and  then  he  was  gone. 

She  heard  a  delay  in  the  Hall,  where  he  had  evidently 
met  her  Aunt,  and  was  exchanging  parting  words  with 
her.  But  when  Lady  Catharine  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  her  kindly 
old  heart  full  of  regret  and  sorrow,  to  pour  it  all  out  for 
the  hundredth  time  to  Eugenia,  she  was  not  there.  She 
had  escaped  by  another  door  to  her  own  room,  where, 
throwing  herself  upon  the  sofa,  she  gave  vent  to  the  tears 
which  she  could  not  repress.  They  were  tears  of  disappoint- 
ment ;  but,  though,  in  their  way,  bitter,  they  were  from 
no  deep  fountain  of  personal  sorrow.  At  last  she  roused 
herself;  and,  ringing  her  bell,  summoned  Elstone,  and 
told  her  that  she  was  to  order  the  horse,  as  she  meant 
to  ride  for  an  hour. 

"  It  is  getting  late ;  does  your  ladyship  think  it 
will  be  good  for  your  cold  ]  The  days  close  in  so 
early." 

"Order  the  horse,"  was  the  peremptory  answer  ;  and, 
as  Elstone  left  the  room  to  obey  her  mistress,  with  an 
almost  perceptible  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  Eugenia  began 
to  prepare  for  her  ride. 

"  I  must  walk,  or  ride,  or  do  something,  or  I  shall 
have  no  peace." 

The  very  word  brought  the  face  of  Irene  before  her  ; 
and,  with  it,  the  remembrance  of  that  sweet,  serene  face, 
as  she  had  seen  it  in  the  autumn  twilight  long  before. 

"  I  will  go  down  into  Rodham,  to  see  how  she  takes  it 
all — that  is  a  bright  thought ; "  and  she  went. 

Irene  was  in  the  dining-room   at  Ecclestone  Square 


250  HEIGHTS   AND    VALLEYS. 

when  Lady  Eugenia  arrived.  The  drawing-room  was  de- 
solate and  empty  to  her  without  Cuthbert ;  and  she  liked 
to  have  Hilda  and  Randal  with  her  as  much  as  possible, 
without  any  fear  of  harm  to  her  sister's  cherished  orna- 
ments and  "best  books,"  which  did  lay  on  the  drawing- 
room  tables. 

Hilda  was  curled  up  in  her  father's  large  arm-chair 
by  the  fire,  and  Irene  was  reading  to  her. 

"  How  cosy  you  look,"  Lady  Eugenia  said.  "  It  is 
rather  cold  riding,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  splendid 
fire." 

"  Is  it  not  much  too  cold  for  you  to  be  out  1 "  Irene 
said  ;  "  especially  on  horseback. 

"  I  daresay  it  is ;  but  I  was  bent  upon  having  my  own 
way,  as  usual.  I  daresay  I  shall  be  laid  up ;  but  it  don't 
matter." 

"  You  shall  have  some  tea,"  Irene  said.  "  Hilda, 
dear,  run  and  tell  Smith  to  bring  us  two  good  cups ;  and 
you  may  go  and  play  in  the  nursery  now." 

As  she  was  speaking,  Randal  rushed  in, — 

"  Auntie,  look ;  Sir  Philip  has  given  me  this  as  a 
parting  present ;  do  look.  He  is  gone  away  now  with 
papa,  but  he  has  been  in  the  study  some  time,  and  I  met 
him  coming  out.  And  he  took  this  from  his  pocket,  and 
said  he  meant  it  for  me.  Just  the  very  thing  I  wished 
for ;  and  it  was  his  watch  when  he  was  at  school  and 
college.  Then  Jasper  had  it ;  but  now  he  has  a  grand  gold 
one,  with  a  chain,  so  Sir  Philip  took  this  again.  Is  it  not 
beautiful  1  and  the  chain,  too,  and  a  pencil  and  a  seal." 

The  boy  ran  away  with  his  treasure,  to  display  it  to 
the  servants'  admiring  eyes  ;  and  little  Hilda  followed. 

"  Have  you  taken  your  leave  of  Sir  Philip  Dennis- 
toun  1 "  Eugenia  asked,  when  they  were  alone. 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  251 

"  Yes  ;  he  came  in  with  Forster,  just  before  you  did, 
and  bid  Hilda  and  me  good-bye." 

"  Hilda  and  you  ! "  said  Eugenia.  But  Irene  did  not 
heed  the  sarcastic  tone.  "  What  do  you  think  of  it  all 
— of  this  descent  from  heights  to  depths  !  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  a  descent,"  said  Irene.  "  The 
loss  of  a  title  and  lands  and  money  does  not  necessarily 
bring  humiliation." 

"  How  odd  you  are  ;  and  forgive  me,  if  I  say  that  it 
is  all  a  fallacy.  It  sounds  fine  and  unworld-like,  I  know ; 
but  it  is  not  common  sense." 

Irene's  peculiar  smile  rippled  over  her  face.  "  "No 
one,"  she  said,  "  can  look  at  Mr.  Dennistoun,  and  think 
of  a  descent  from,  any  height.  He  looks  far  more  like 
one  who  has  gained  something  he  had  aspired  to  than 
he  has  done  for  some  months." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  profess  to  be  glad  that  this  boy, 
with  hair  that  critics  might  call  sandy,  as  Mr.  Dennistoun 
says,  has  turned  up,  or  rather  been  washed  ashore  across 
seas.  I  profess  no  such  satisfaction,  for  I  think  it  would 
have  been  an  immense  gain  to  the  world  at  large  if  the 
ship  that  brought  this  boy  had  been  engulfed  in  the  ocean, 
or  locked  in  icebergs,  or  any  other  fate  you  may  prefer, 
provided  this  boy  had  shared  it.  Am  I  not  hateful  this 
afternoon  ]  " 

"  Here  is  your  tea,"  said  Irene ;  "  shall  I  put  plenty 
of  sugar  in  it  ?" 

"  To  sweeten  me,  you  mean.  Yes ;  six  lumps,  if 
you  like.  But  I  must  make  haste  and  drink  it,  or  I 
shall  have  Aunt  Catharine  frantic,  thinking  I  have 
caught  pleurisy,  or  congestion  of  the  lungs,  or  bron- 
chitis." 


252  HEIGHTS   AXD   VALLEYS. 

Then  Eugenia  drank  her  tea,  and,  drawing  on  her 
gloves,  said  she  must  go. 

"  Irene,  I  shall  not  see  you  again,  perhaps,  for  a  long 
time,  as  we  ave  going  to  London  next  week.  Don't 
forget  me,  and  let  me  write  to  you  sometimes;  good-bye." 

With  sudden  earnestness,  she  caught  Irene's  little 
slight  figure  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Peace !  yes,  it  is  always  peace  with  you.  Irene,  I 
wish  I  were  like  you ;  good-bye."  And  that  was  the  end. 

Irene  watched  the  tall  graceful  figure  ride  away  ;  and 
as  Eugenia  left  the  square,  she  turned  round  and  waved 
her  hand,  in  token  of  farewell ;  then  turning  back  into  the 
hall,  in  the  wintry  twilight,  Irene  sent  up  a  little  winged 
messenger  for  one  who  had  so  many  gifts,  and  so  much 
attraction  of  mind  and  person,  and  yet  missed  the  true 
source  of  the  peace  she  craved,  and  the  rest  she  longed 
for,  and  so,  in  spite  of  all  the  world  could  give  her,  went 
wearily  on  her  way. 

Philip  Dennistoun  had  a  week  of  anxious  delibera- 
tion and  continual  effort  to  smooth  the  way  for  those  who 
imdoubtedly  felt  the  impending  change  more  than  he  did. 
On  the  afternoon  but  one  before  their  departure  from 
Rockdeane,  Rosie  was  perched  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair 
in  the  study,  and  talking  to  him  in  her  old  caressing 
way.  A  letter  which  she  had  brought  for  her  brother  to 
read  and  approve,  was  now  fastened  down,  and  put  with 
a  smile  on  the  pile  which  was  waiting  to  be  sent  down  to 
the  post.  The  address  was,  "  George  Crofton  Sandford, 
Esq.,  Stow,  near  Bruton,  Somerset,"  and  contained  an 
answer  to  one  which  had  been  received  that  morning. 

"  So  your  fortune  is  made,  little  Rosie,"  he  said;  "and 
you  will  soon  be  mistress  of  old  Stow." 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  253 

"  Yes ;  and  isn't  that  a  nice  letter  of  his,  Philip  ? 
When  I  think  how  he  was  snubbed,  and  mother  de- 
murred, and  how  I  was  so  silly  as  to  think  I  should  like 
a  season  in  London  first,  I  can't  say  how  I  admire  him 

and  respect  him  and "  She  stopped,  and  laid  her  head 

on  her  brother's  shoulder.  "  Philip,  I  told  you  once  last 
autumn  I  knew  what  true  love  meant,  and  the  difference 
between  summer  and  winter  birds  ;  and  who  I  knew 
would  be  true  always,  and  could  not  change." 

"  I  remember.  Some  day,  I  may  test  the  truth  of 
what  you  said,  little  Eosie ;  but  not  yet.  Now,  do  you 
remember  who  is  coming  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  and  I  hate  it.  What  are  we  to  say  to  him  ? 
And  how  awful  it  will  be  ! " 

"  We  must  try  and  put  him  at  his  ease,  poor  boy ! 
and  Mr.  Williamson  is  coming  to  help  us.  I  wish  to 
show  we  are  on  perfectly  friendly  terms  with  each  other, 
and  I  hope  your  mother  will  understand  this." 

"  Will  you  let  Jasper  go  on  at  Eton  1 " 

"  No ;  decidedly  not,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  only 
favour  I  shall  take  from  Sir  Jasper's  hand  is  the  finishing 
of  the  Church  and  the  work  at  the  Almshouses.  Dis- 
tinctly understand  that !  There  is  a  very  good  grammar- 
school  near  Stow  to  which  Jasper  can  go  every  day, 
if  Sandford  really  intends  to  carry  out  his  plan  of  letting 
your  mother  have  the  small  house  on  the  grounds  which 
he  proposes.  To  send  Jasper  to  Eton  would  only  be  to 
foster  his  notions  of  pride,  and  to  make  him  think  he  was  to 
maintain  the  position  which  he  held  lately  as  my  heir. 
And  you  will  be  the  Lady  of  the  Manor,  little  Eosie,  and 
brighten  the  lives  of  the  old  people.  They  have  always 
lived  in  a  corner  of  Stow,  and  they  won't  disturb  you. 
You  are  certain  to  be  perfection  in  their  eyes  :  if  you 


254  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

belong  to  George,  you  must  needs  be  superior  to  every 
one  else." 

"  It  seems  all  so  wonderful  and  strange,"  Rosie  said. 
"  I  expect  we  shall  all  lead  very  humdrum  lives  after 
this.  Everything  has  been  crowded  into  a  few  months. 
Now  I  must  go  and  see  mamma.  Philip,  I  am  sorry  for 
mamma;  she  feels  this  change  more  than  any  of  us." 
And  as  she  spoke,  there  was  a  tap  at  the  study  door, 
and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  came  in. 

"  Run  away,  Rosie ;  I  want  to  talk  to  your  brother 
alone." 

Mrs.  Dennisfcoun  took  the  chair  Philip  offered  her,  and 
said — 

"  I  won't  detain  you  long,  Philip  j  but  I  do  want  to 
ask  you  if  you  have  quite  decided  about  Jasper,  for  this 
young  man  is  willing  to  continue  him  at  Eton." 

"  My  mind  is  made  up,"  Philip  said,  interrupting  her. 
"  I  believe  Jasper  will  do  far  better  at  a  lower  school 
than  Eton.  If  I  thought  it  were  for  his  advantage,  I 
might  pause,  and  consider  my  decision  ;  but  I  am  sure  I 
am  right." 

"Jasper  can  never  be  fit  to  rough  it  in  a  common 
school,"  his  mother  pleaded. 

"  There  is  no  need  that  he  should  do  so.  This  house 
Sandford  offers  you  will  place  you  near  the  Grammar 
School  at  Bruton,  than  which  there  is  not  a  better 
in  the  kingdom.  Jasper  can  learn  as  much  there  as  is 
needful,  and  be  under  your  own  eye." 

"We  shall  be  buried  in  the  country,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Den- 
nistoun ;  "buried  alive.  Kensington  is  better  than  that." 

"  It  cannot  be  Kensington  again,"  said  Philip.  "  I 
shall  live  in  chambers  mostly,  except  when  I  come  to  see 
you ;  and  then,  as  time  goes  on,  I  shall  be  able  to  feel  my 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  255 

•way.  I  have  lost  gi-ound  to  make  up,  and  life,  as  it  were, 
to  begin  again." 

"  You  are  sure  to  take  a  lead  on  the  Circuit." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  go  on  Circuit.  Perhaps 
get  a  law  appointment,  or  some  office,  which  will  fix  me 
permanently  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London." 

"It  is  a  most  unfortunate  affair,"  said  Mrs.  Dennis- 
toun ;  "  and  to  see  a  young  man  like  this,  uneducated 
and  second  rate,  in  your  place,  is  really  too  much  ! " 

"  Don't  say  my  place,"  said  Philip,  in  the  wearied 
manner  which  he  could  not  help  when  listening  to  Mrs. 
Dennistoun's  lamentations ;  "  it  was  not  my  place.  But, 
please,  do  not  let  us  go  over  the  ground  again  ;  it  is  so 
useless.  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  thing  Rosie's  future  is 
so  happily  settled  ;  and  if  any  proof  were  needed  of 
Sandford's  disinterested  love,  his  conduct  just  now  is 
more  than  sufficient." 

"  Yes.  Still,  Rosie's  taste  is  unaccountable  to  me ; 
but,  of  course,  I  am  thankful  she  should  have  a  com- 
fortable home.  Jasper  is  my  heaviest  anxiety." 

"  He  will  do  very  well,"  Philip  said,  taking  his  hat. 
"  I  think  I  shall  take  a  twilight  stroll  before  dinner. 
You  know  Mr.  Williamson  is  coming  up  with  Jasper 
Dennistoun  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  perfectly  dread  it." 

"  You  need  not ;  the  poor  fellow  dreads  it  more  than 
we  can  possibly  do,  I  am  very  sure.  We  must,  as  I  have 
been  saying  to  Rosie,  try  to  make  him  feel  less  shy  and 
awkward.  And  do  give  your  Jasper  a  hint  to  that 
effect." 

"  Jasper  is  always  gentlemanlike,"  said  his  mother, 
rising  instantly  in  the  boy's  defence.  "  His  conduct  to 
his  inferiors  is " 


256  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

Philip  could  wait  to  hear  no  more,  but  strode  out  of 
the  house,  and  was  soon  walking  at  a  rapid  pace  over 
the  moor,  taking  his  accustomed  remedy  for  care  and 
anxiety  in  the  exercise  in  the  open  air  in  which  his  strong, 
vigorous  frame  delighted.  He  went  over  the  little  bridge 
which  spanned  the  ravine ;  the  same  which  Rosie  and 
Irene  and  he  and  George  Sandford  had  crossed  that  bright 
May  morning.  He  recalled  it  all,  and  the  schemes  and 
hopes  which  were  perhaps  then  at  their  height ;  for,  with 
Philip's  manliness  and  breadth  of  soul,  there  were  in  him 
some  almost  womanly  touches  of  fidelity  to  the  past,  and 
a  power  to  reproduce  minute  details,  which  is  not  often 
the  case  with  men.  Still  further  back  he  went,  to  that 
other  day  when  he  had  climbed  the  steep  face  of  the  scar, 
and  rescued  the  slight  clinging  form  which  had  held  on 
so  bravely  for  the  sake  of  the  child  who  was  saved  by  her 
calmness  and  presence  of  mind.  He  seemed  to  hear  her 
voice  again,  and  seemed  to  see  her  pale  face,  as  she  sank 
down  on  the  grass  and  heather,  and  realized,  for  the  first 
time,  how  great  the  peril  and  how  great  the  deliverance 
had  been.  Philip  walked  on,  and,  passing  Smith's  house, 
saw  a  light  was  in  the  window  of  the  room  which  the 
sick  man  occupied.  He  unfastened  the  little  iron  gate, 
and  went  up  to  the  door;  it  was  opened  immediately 
by  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  I  saw  you  coming,  and  I  couldn't  help  meeting  you, 
that  I  couldn't.  Smith  is  going  fast;  he  gets  weaker 
every  day ;  and  he  is  like  a  lamb,  which  I  take  to  be  a 
bad  sign.  Come  up  and  see  him,  Sir  Philip  ;  for,  there, 
if  you  kill  me  for  it,  I  must  call  you  Sir  Philip.  You 
were  born  to  be  master  here  ;  and " 

"  It  seems  that  is  exactly  what  I  was  not  born  to  be, 
Mrs.  Smith.  But  let  me  come  up  and  see  your  poor 


GREAT  NEWS  FOB  RODHAM.    ^      257 

husband.  I  heard  to-day,  from  Mr.  Farrant,  that  he 
was  much  worse." 

Mrs.  Smith  dragged  her  leviathan  weight  upstairs,  under 
which  the  staircase  groaned,  and  entered  the  room  before 
Philip,  and  he  followed  her  to  the  old  man's  bed.  All 
that  was  lion-like  and  irritable  had  truly  passed  away ; 
and  a  faint  voice  greeted  Philip  with, — 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Sir  Philip.  I've  known  this  a  long 
time ;  but,  there,  it  wasn't  for  me  to  tell  it.  The  old  gentle- 
man made  me  swear  to  keep  his  secret,  and  I  kept  it.  It 
was  a  shamefaced  sort  of  pride  that  got  hold  of  him ;  and 
Susan  Cleveland,  she  was  a  temper." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Philip;  "you  have  told  me  this 
before.  Let  us  leave  the  dead  to  Him  who  judge th 
right." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  ah,  yes  !  I'm  going  fast,  and  she'll  be  glad 
to  be  quit  of  me." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Smith  ;  you  know  I  shan't  ;  " 
and  Mrs.  Smith's  tears  burst  forth. 

The  old  man  stretched  out  his  hand  feebly  to  his  wife, 
who  was  many  years  his  junior,  and  said, 

"  Don't  fret,  Mary;  don't  fret;  I  have  got  a  hope  that 
we  shall  meet  again.  Do  you  know,  Sir,  that  the  young 
lady  who  was  at  the  grand  house  in  May  first  told  me  of 
a  cure  for  all  my  pains  and  aches.  God  bless  her  !  God 
bless  her  !  She  told  me  of  the  Blessed  One  who  bore  in. 
patience  for  our  sakes.  Why,  I  never  knew  anything 
about  Him  till  then.  I  hope  I  shall  live  to  see  her  again. 
She  is  one  of  ten  thousand,  Sir." 

"  Has  she — has  Miss  Clifford  been  here  often  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  at  that  time  when  she  was  at  Rock- 
deane,  she  heard  I  wanted  to  see  her  and  Miss  Rosie  one 
day.  It  was  more  for  contrariness,  to  put  out  Mary.  I 

S 


258  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

» 

was  always  going  against  every  one,  and  her  in  particular. 
And  though  she  didn't  come  up  then,  she  came  up  soon 
after  ;  and  as  there  was  no  one  here  to  catch  the  scarlet 
fever,  we  weren't  afraid — why  should  we  be  ?  There,  I 
shall  never  forget  her  sitting  down  in  that  chair,  and 
talking  so  prettily ;  not  preaching  at  me,  and  telling  me 
I  wasn't  to  grumble,  and  I  had  many  mercies,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  No,  no  ;  she  just  began  telling  me  of 
her  little  crippled  nephew,  and  how  happy  he  was  ;  and 
then  she  said,  « I  will  repeat  you  a  bit  of  poetry  he  likes.' 
She  seemed  to  know  I  liked  poetry,  and  she  was  right ; 
but  this  was  about  the  Blessed  One,  and  His  suffering, 
and  His  glory.  Why,  it  was  better  than  ten  sermons  to 
hear  her,  bless  her.  God  bless  her  !  " 

And  Philip's  heart  echoed  the  words,  as  he  walked 
towards  Rockdeane. 

And  did  not  blessing  follow  Irene  everywhei'e  ?  Was 
not  her  life,  like  the  incense  of  a  violet  in  spring's  soft 
days,  the  fragrance  drawn  out  by  the  sun  of  love  and 
righteousness,  as  the  scent  of  the  hidden  flower  comes  to 
us  unawares  from  shady  hedgerows,  when  the  sunbeams 
of  April  draw  it  upwards,  in  silent  thanksgiving  and 
praise  1 

The  dressing-bells  were  ringing  when  Philip  passed 
under  the  old  eagle,  and  went  to  his  room. 

Forrest  met  him. 

"  Mr.  Williamson  and  the  gentleman  are  come,  Sir 
Philip.  They  are  in  the  drawing-room." 

The  old  man  put  great  stress  on  the  "  gentleman  "  and 
"  Sir  Philip." 

"  You  are  determined  not  to  let  the  old  order  of  things 
pass  till  I  am  actually  gone,  Forrest.  But  please  be 
careful  to  treat  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun  respectfully,  and 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  259 

show  by  your  manner  that  you  acknowledge  his  position 
here.  You  have  served  me  well  for  sixteen  months  ;  let 
me  know  that  you  serve  this  friendless  boy  in  like 
manner.  Remember,  Forrest,  he  is  wholly  guiltless  of 
the  past." 

"  I  would  do  anything  you  desire,  Sir,"  said  poor 
Forrest ;  "  but  Mrs.  Mason  and  I  are  thinking  of 
resigning  here,  Sir ;  we  can't  reconcile  ourselves  to  the 
change. " 

"Nonsense,  Forrest;  you  will  stay  in  the  old  place, 
and  I  shall  see  you  here  when  1  pay  it  a  visit.  Now,  I 
must  make  haste,  or  I  shall  keep  dinner  waiting." 

Poor  Jasper  Dennistoun  was  standing  awkwardly  on 
the  hearthrug,  when  Philip  went  into  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Dennistoun,  in  evening  dress,  which  was  just  a  little 
too  prononce,  looking  handsome  and  self-possessed,  was 
lying  back  in  an  arm-chair,  a  little  gypsy  table  by  her 
side,  on  which  was  a  roll  of  the  embroidery  she  was 
generally  employed  upon — with  what  result,  the  adorn- 
ments of  the  small  drawing-room  in  the  way  of  cushions 
and  ottomans  could  testify.  Rosie  was  turning  over  a 
photograph  book,  and  trying  to  talk  to  Mr.  Williamson, 
while  Jasper  the  younger  was  rattling  the  balls  of  a  small 
bagatelle  board,  which  stood  in  a  corner  by  the  fireplace, 
and  had  been  a  Christmas  present  from  Philip,  to  promote 
peace  of  an  evening  at  Rockdeane.  Philip's  entrance 
seemed  to  rouse  Sir  Jasper  from  the  hopeless  shyness  and 
depression  which  had  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  do 
more  than  jerk  oiit  monosyllables  to  Mrs.  Dennistoun's 
questions.  Forster  Williamson  had  thought  it  more 
charitable  to  leave  him  alone,  and  it  was  curious  to  see 
how  he  seemed  to  catch  at  Philip's  hand,  as  it  was 
S  2 


260  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

outstretched  in  kindly  greeting,  as  a  drowning  man  would 
for  rescue. 

Had  Philip  been  anything  but  what  he  was,  had  he 
been  anything  but  true  and  real,  the  circumstances  in  which 
he  was  now  placed  with  the  rightful  heir  of  the  title  and 
estates  would  have  shown  the  alloy  mixed  with  the  pure 
metal.  But  he  only  seemed  to  shine  more  brightly,  and 
instead  of  indulging  in  self  pity,  or  letting  his  superiority  to 
poor  Jasper  be  seen,  he  forgot  himself  in  him ;  and  the  boy's 
shy  awkward  shuffling  manner  began  to  vanish  under  the 
influence  which  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him.  It  was  a 
frightful  ordeal  to  Sir  Jasper  to  take  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
in  to  dinner,  and  the  few  words  she  addressed  to  him  in 
the  way  to  the  dining-room  only  met  with  a  low  grunt, 
as  an  acknowledgment  The  sight  of  the  pretty  table, 
the  sparkling  glass  and  shining  silver,  the  servants'  quiet 
waiting,  filled  Jasper  with  astonishment,  and  he  looked 
about  him  so  much  that  he  had  scarcely  taken  two 
spoonfuls  of  soup  before  he  found  every  one  else  had 
finished  theirs  ;  and  then  he  set  himself  to  despatch  what 
was  left,  so  hastily,  that  his  usually  pale  face  became  red 
with  the  effort.  Philip  diverted  attention  from  him,  and 
drew  Mr.  Williamson  out  to  tell  some  amusing  story,  and 
then,  directly  addressing  Sir  Jasper,  he  led  the  conversa- 
tion to  matters  in  which  he  knew  he  was  interested. 

WhenRosie  and  her  mother  left  the  dining-room,  Jasper 
lingered  ;  but  after  the  glass  of  port  wine,  which  he 
always  expected,  Philip  asked  him  to  go  and  try  over  a 
duet  with  Rosie,  and  give  them  the  benefit  of  it  when 
they  came  to  the  drawing-room.  Jasper  hesitated  ;  but  a 
look  at  his  brother's  face  was  sufficient  to  assure  him  he 
meant  Avhat  he  said.  When  he  was  left  alone  with  Sir 


GREAT  NEWS  FOR  RODHAM.  261 

Jasper  and  Mr.  Williamson,  Philip  began  to  talk  over  all 
the  affairs  more  immediately  connected  with  Rockdeane, 
mentioned  several  of  the  tenantry  by  name,  and  asked  for 
the  widow  of  one  that  she  might  be  allowed  to  continue 
in  the  farm,  free  of  rent,  for  the  next  year,  till  her  eldest 
son  was  able  to  take  the  management  of  it.  He  seemed 
to  forget  nothing ;  and  poor  old  Smith  and  his  wife  were 
especially  commended  to  the  new  comer. 

"  I  have  asked  all  the  principal  tenants,  who  are  within 
reach,  to  come  up  here  this  evening.  They  are  to  have  a 
supper  in  the  servants'  hall,  and  I  should  like  to 
introduce  you  personally  to  them,  with  a  few  words  of 
explanation." 

"  Oh  !  no  ;  pray  don't.     I  really  can't ;  I " 

"  If  I  can,  I  think  you  can.  We  will  go  into  the 
drawing-room  for  a  little  music  first,  to  fortify  ourselves 
for  the  occasion." 

"  You  must  pluck  up,"  Philip  continued,  in  his  hearty 
kindly  way,  "and  not  show  the  white  feather.  You 
have  got  a  grand  helper  and  supporter  in  my  friend  here, 
and  you  must  make  the  most  of  him." 

The  bell  rang  for  prayers  in  the  little  chapel  at 
ten  o'clock  ;  and  Philip  led  the  way  there,  and  himself 
conducted  a  short  service.  The  psalms  for  the  even- 
ing were  read,  and  then  followed  some  collects,  and 
the  lessons  for  the  30th  of  January,  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  Martyrdom  of  Charles,  the  master  for  whom 
Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  Knight,  had  shed  his  blood  at 
Edgehill. 

There  was  something  soothing  to  Philip  to  com- 
memorate in  some  way  that  day  of  darkness  and  gloom, 
which  had  so  affected  many  who  had  worshipped  in  that 
little  chapel  in  days  of  old,  when  that  tale  of  wrong- 


262  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

doing  and  bloodshed  was  yet  fresh,  and  had  vibrated 
through  countless  loyal  hearts,  and  thrilled  them  with 
pain  and  distress,  such  as  we  can  scarcely  imagine. 

The  little  chapel  had  been  neatly  fitted  up  for  this 
short  daily  prayer,  and  the  organ  which  Philip  had  told 
Irene  he  intended  to  place  there,  had  arrived.  But  it 
was  not  put  up  in  its  place,  as  there  had  been  some  delay 
in  the  appearance  of  the  man  from  London,  who  was  to 
superintend  it.  "When  the  servants  were  gone,  Philip 
pointed  it  out  to  Jasper,  and  asked  him  if  he  cared  for 
music ;  if  so,  he  said,  he  hoped  he  would  let  the  erection 
of  the  organ  be  completed.  The  same  answer  came,  "  If 
you  wish  it." 

Then,  as  by  previous  arrangement  with  Forrest  and 
Mrs.  Mason,  Philip  led  the  way  to  the  servants'  hall. 
There  some  ten  or  twelve  of  the  tenantry  were  gathered ; 
beside  the  staff  of  household  servants,  which  was  now 
very  large.  Philip  walked  into  the  centre  of  the  hall, 
and  said  : — 

"  My  friends, — I  wished  to  say  a  few  words  to  you 
before  I  leave  you,  to  express  my  thanks  for  all  the 
kindliness  you  have  shown  me  since  I  have  been  here ; 
and  to  bid  you  good-bye.  I  also  wish  to  introduce  to  you 
the  grandson  of  the  late  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun  ;  and  to 
assure  you  that  his  right  here  is  undoubted  ;  and  that  no 
question  need  arise  in  your  mind  as  to  that  part  of  the 
matter.  I  hope  you  will  receive  him  as  you  received 
me  ;  and  all  prove  to  him  what  you  have  proved  to  me. 
You  cannot  please  me  better  than  by  giving  Sir  Jasper 
Dennistoun  a  kindly  welcome,  and  by  serving  him  well." 

The  clear,  sonorous  voice  rang  through  the  hall ;  and, 
when  Philip  paused,  there  was  silence.  Then  an  old 
man  stepped  forward ;  he  was  the  oldest  servant  present : 


GREAT  NEWS   FOR  RODHAM.  263 

"  We  can't  give  you  a  cheer,  Sir  Philip,  for  what  you 
say ;  our  hearts  are  too  heavy  ;  but  we'll  do  our  best ; 
and  that  young  gentleman  shall  never  see  cause  to  com- 
plain— leastways,  we  hope  not.  And,  Sir  Jasper,  you'll 
forgive  my  saying  that,  if  you  be  to  us  what  Sir  Philip 
has  been,  we'll  serve  you  heart  and  soul  for  your  own 
sake,  as  well  as  his ;  and  so,  Sir  Jasper,  though  we  are 
well-nigh  broken  down — leastways,  I  am — to  part  from 
Sir  Philip,  right  is  right ;  and  we  know  it.  So  you  may 
hold  up  your  head  amongst  us,  Sir  Jasper  ;  and  not  be 
ashamed  of  nothing — you've  no  cause ;  and  you  have  got 
an  honourable  name  handed  down  to  you,  Sir  Jasper ; 
and  none  have  borne  it  better  than  him  that's  going  from 
us.  It's  right  and  just  he  should  go,  and  we  know  it ; 
but  it  don't  make  it  the  easier  to  part.  God  bless  him 
wherever  he  goes  ! " 

The  speaker  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the  class  to  which 
he  belonged ;  and  his  speech,  delivered  slowly,  with  the 
broadest  Cumberland  accent,  moved  the  hearts  of  his 
hearers  more  than  any  finer  eloquence  could  have 
done. 

Even  Philip  could  trust  himself  to  say  no  more ;  but  he 
wrung  the  old  man's  hand  with  an  earnest  grasp,  and  the 
rest  clustered  round  for  the  same  parting  honour.  Sir 
Jasper  stood  by,  unable  to  bring  out  a  word  ;  and, 
when  Philip  turned  to  leave  the  Hall,  kept  close  to  him, 
as  if  for  protection.  At  the  door,  which  Forrest  held 
respectfully  for  his  late  master  to  pass,  Philip  paused, 
turned  round  on  them  all,  and  waved  his  hand,  saying, 
"  Good  night ;  and  may  God  bless  you  !  " 

When  he  was  gone,  the  silent  group  found  words. 

"  I  never  see  him  look  like  that  but  once ;  and  that 
was  when  he  made  that  speech  to  the  people  after  his 


264  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

election,"  said  one.     "It  is  grand,  I  call  it,  to  look  at 
him." 

"  And  that  poor  whipper-snapper,  with  his  sandy  hair 
and  his  sickly  face,  to  take  his  place  and  step  in  his  shoes  ! 
Well,  there  be  some  that  have  said  Susan  Cleveland  was 
never  the  old  gentleman's  lawful  wife." 

"  I  won't  hear  a  word  of  it,"  broke  in  the  veteran,  who 
had  spoken  to  Philip  ;  "  have  we  not  his  word  for  it  1 
and  what  more  do  we  want  ]  Do  you  suppose  he  would 
deceive  \\s1" 

"  Lor,  no ;  especially  as  it  would  be  to  his  advantage 
if  Susan  Cleveland  never  had  been  my  lady,"  said 
another. 

"Stop  this,"  said  the  old  man;  "you  won't  mend 
matters  by  talking  like  this.  I  believe  our  late  dear 
master  would  never  have  stopped  to  think  of  what  he 
wanted.  'Just  and  right,' is  his  motto;  and  he  knows  this 
is  just  and  right,  and  we  must  trust  him.  We  will  drink 
his  health,  by  your  leave,  Mr.  Forrest ;  and  then  the 
poor  young  Sir  Jasper's  ;  he  looks  as  if  he  wanted  it. 
I  don't  think  he  is  long  for  this  world,  with  a  title  or 
without  it." 

And  so  the  evening  closed ;  and  in  another  month 
Rockdeaue  was  silent  and  deserted.  The  nucleus  of 
action  was  in  the  servants'  hall,  where  Mrs.  Mason  and 
old  Forrest  still  held  rule  over  a  diminished  staff.  The 
tide  of  life  seemed  to  have  ebbed  again  ;  and  the  young  Sir 
Jasper  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  great  house,  lonely  and 
dejected,  suffering  from  the  effects  of  an  illness  which 
the  chill  English  spring,  in  an  exposed  situation,  did  not 
tend  to  overcome. 

Dr.  Simpson,  bland  and  smiling,  called;  and  urged 
his  advice  in  the  most  friendly  terms.  Forster  William- 


GREAT  NEWS  FOE  RODHAM.  265 

son  looked  him  up  from  time  to  time ;  and  the  young 
stirring  bailiff  managed  the  affairs  of  the  estate  under 
his  direction ;  while  the  head  himself  was  but  a  cypher. 
In  due  course  cards  were  left  at  Rockdeane  ;  but  they 
lay  in  a  pile,  almost  unnoticed.  Sir  Jasper  was  very 
much  out  of  health,  Dr.  Simpson  said ;  but  he  was  an 
interesting  young  man,  and  he  had  no  doubt,  when  he 
felt  able,  would  emerge  from  his  privacy,  and  do  the 
position,  in  which  he  found  himself  placed,  due  honour. 
But  Dr.  Simpson's  prophecy  seemed  long  in  fulfilment ; 
and  Rodham  began  to  give  up  the  new  Baronet  as  hope- 
less, and  to  turn  its  attention  to  other  topics.  The 
keen  interest  which  the  Dennistoun  case  had  excited 
began  to  die  out ;  and  the  building  of  the  little  Church, 
and  the  restoration  of  Hildyard's  Almshouse  Chapel, 
seemed  to  be  the  only  signs  which  Sir  Jasper  gave  of  his 
existence. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FLOWERS  OF  LOVE  AND  PEACE. 

"  THEN,  in  that  time  and  place  I  spoke  to  her, 
Requiring,  though  I  knew  it  was  mine  own, 
Yet  for  the  pleasure  that  I  took  to  hear  ; 
Requiring  at  her  hand  the  greatest  gift — 
A  woman's  heart — the  heart  of  her  I  loved." 

"  THE  GABDENEB'S  DAUGHTER." 

IT  was  a  still  autumn  afternoon  when  Irene  Clifford 
turned  out  of  the  Warden's  house,  and  crossed  the  court- 
yard to  the  door  of  the  chapel.  The  restorations  there 
were  nearly  finished,  and  the  designs  which  Philip  had 
approved  had  been  faithfully  carried  out.  A  tesse- 
lated  pavement  had  taken  the  place  of  the  white  stone ; 
all  the  pillars  were  scraped  and  polished,  and  the  beautiful 
tracery  of  the  windows  restored;  while  the  cracked, 
dingy  glass  was  replaced  by  coloured  designs  from  the  life 
of  our  Lord.  The  east  end  was  pretty  and  appropriate  ; 
and  the  polished  oak  seats  for  the  poor  pensioners  had 
each  a  crimson  baize  footstool,  and  desk  for  books.  A 
large-printed  Bible  and  Prayer-book  lay  before  each  seat. 
The  tomb  of  Sir  Philip  and  Editha  had  been  carefully 
restored  and  cleaned  j  and  it  was  no  longer  difficult  to 
read  the  inscription.  In  the  vestibule,  the  same  care 
had  been  displayed,  and  the  whole  was  now  perfect  of 
its  kind. 


FLOWERS  OF  LOVE  AND  PEACB.         267 

Irene  waited  till  old  Matthew  Gillett  came  into  the 
vestibule,  to  ring  the  bell,  at  ten  minutes  to  six,  for  even- 
ing prayer  j  and  then  she  took  her  seat  near  the  chancel. 

One  by  one  the  old  pensioners  came  dropping  in,  in 
such  numbers  that  all  doubt  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
renewal  of  the  service  could  not  be  questioned.  Irene 
knelt  in  silent  prayer,  and  felt,  as  we  have  all  felt  at 
times,  the  refreshment  of  half-an-hour's  withdrawal 
from  the  busy  stream  of  daily  life  to  the  quiet  and  peace 
of  the  House  of  GOD. 

It  was  not  till  the  young  curate  who  had  been  appointed 
to  assist  Mr.  Bolton  had  begun  to  read  the  familiar  words, 
"I  will  arise,  and  go  to  my  father/1  thai  Irene  became 
conscious  that  the  seat  next  her  was  occupied,  and  that 
Philip  Dennistoun  was  there.  She  looked  up  at  him  for 
a  moment,  and  their  eyes  met :  his  sought  hers  with  an 
earnest  questioning,  and  hers  replied  with  a  glance  of 
surprise  and  welcome. 

The  service  was  over,  and  neither  moved.  The  shuffle 
of  the  retreating  feet  of  the  old  people  and  the  last  echo 
of  an  asthmatic  cough  died  away,  and  still  Philip  and 
Irene  knelt  on.  At  last,  old  Matthew  Gillett  stumped 
up  the  chapel  with  an  impatient  step,  and  Irene  rose  and 
prepared  to  go  out. 

Philip  followed  her  ;  but  it  was  not  till  they  were  under 
the  old  gateway  over  which  the  eagle  presided,  that  they 
both  paused.  It  was  only  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  and 
Philip  was  the  first  to  break  the  spell  of  silence. 

"  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  here  ?  "  he  said,  at  last. 

"  No  ;  I  thought  ih^  Church  at  Rockdeane  was  not  to 
be  consecrated  till  next  week — St.  Michael's-day." 

"  I  have  not  come  only  for  the  consecration  of  the 
Church  :  I  came  to  talk  to  you." 


2C8  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  You  will  like  to  hear  about  Cuthbert,  I  know,"  she 
answered  ;  "the  end  was  very  peaceful.  I  wrote  to  Rosie, 
and  told  her." 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  she  showed  me  your  letter." 

"  He  came  home  from  Orchard  Leigh  with  his  mother 
a*;  the  end  of  February,  and  was  much  better — so  bright 
and  happy  and  cheerful !  Still,  I  saw  a  change  :  there 
seemed  no  more  fighting  or  struggling  with  himself. 
There  was  no  need  :  the  end  was  very  near,  and  the 
victory  was  won  !  All  the  summer  he  was  better,  and 
we  went  to  Whitby  in  July.  He  caught  cold  there ; 
and,  in  some  unexplained  way,  it  settled  on  his  lungs. 
We  came  home  at  the  end  of  August,  and  he  was  carried 
by  his  father  to  his  bed,  which  he  never  left  again.  It 
was  the  very  gentlest  message  that  came  for  him  at  last. 
~No  one  can  grieve  for  him  ;  but" — and  her  voice  faltered 
— "I  am  very  desolate.  He  was  so  much  to  me  !" 

"  I  know  he  was." 

"  Since  my  mother  went  from  me,  he  has  been  my 
great  comfort ;  but  I  can  be  thankful  for  him.  He  left 
you  many  messages,  and  often  talked  of  you.  He  amused 
himself  very  much  with  drawing  latterly  ;  and  I  have  a 
boat  and  several  little  things  which  he  asked  me  to  give 
you  if  I  ever  saw  you  again." 

"  You  knew  you  would  see  me  again ;  how  could  you 
doubt  it?" 

She  avoided  a  direct  answer. 

"  I  often  hear  from  Rosie,"  she  said ;  "  I  am  so  glad 
she  is  happy  ! " 

"  You  must  come  and  see  her  in  her  home.  She 
wanted  you  for  the  grand  occasion  very  much,  and  was 
terribly  disappointed.  They  have  been  in  Switzerland 
and  Italy,  and  are  now  settled  at  Stow.  The  old  people 


FLOWERS  OF  LOVE  AND  PEACE.          269 

retreat  into  a  corner,  and  Eosie  is  perfection  in  their 
eyes.  Mrs.  Dennistoun  has  made  her  little  place  as 
perfect  as  any  one  could  desire,  and  Jasper  is  getting 
wholesome  dinners  every  day  at  the  Grammar  School 
at  Bruton.  He  is  a  day-boarder,  and  rides  back- 
wards and  forwards  morning  and  evening.  But  I  need 
not  go  over  what  must  be  old  news  to  you ;  Rosie's  pen 
is,  I  know,  that  of  a  ready  writer.  Has  she  told  you 
what  I  am.  doing  ] " 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  glad  you  have  given  up  the  Circuit,,  and 
are  gone  to  the  Chancery  Bar.  It  will  suit  you  better,  I 
am  sure." 

"  I  have  yet  to  see  if  I  suit  it ;  but  there  are  reasons 
why  I  was  very  anxious  to  give  up  the  Circuit." 

They  had  reached  the  Close  now,  and  the  Cathedral 
rose  above  them  in  sombre  majesty.  The  western  light 
shone  upon  the  grand  front,  and  every  pinnacle  and  turret 
was  distinctly  defined  against  the  clear  autumn  sky. 

In  the  midst  of  the  toil  and  bustle  of  the  present, 
how  calm  and  full  of  majesty  are  these  monuments  of 
the  past !  I  know  nothing  which  speaks  to  us  more 
of  the  littleness  of  our  life  here  j  that  is,  the  life 
of  detail  and  minutiae  into  which  every  one  of  us  is 
more  or  less  insensibly  carried  on,  than  the  sudden  rising 
up  before  us  of  one  of  these  hoary  monuments  of  the 
life  which  others  led  before  us,  in  the  very  place  where  we 
now  stand.  We  turn  out  of  a  busy  high  street  or  market- 
place, and  come  under  the  shadow  of  a  minster  or  cathedral, 
and  instantly  the  silence  and  the  calm  around  impress 
us  with  a  sense  of  repose.  We  are  lifted,  it  may  be,  by  the 
thought  of  what  was,  to  that  which  shall  be,  for  us  too, 
some  day,  as  for  the  countless  throng  who  are  now  in 
the  Paradise  of  GOD — where  rest  finds  its  full  fruition  in 


270  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

the  service  that  never  varies — and  the  Lovs  which  cannot 
grow  cold ! 

"  "Will  you  walk  round  the  Close  with  me  before  we 
turn  into  Ecclestone  Square?"  Philip  said;  "I  have 
something  to  say  to  you.  Will  you  listen  ? " 

There  was  no  answer ;  and  for  a  moment  Philip's  brave 
heart  sank  within  him. 

"  Two  years  ago,"  he  began,  "we  met  first,  Irene,  and  I 
thought — I  hoped  for  some  time — that  you  understood  me, 
and  knew  that  I  loved  you.  Then  there  came  a  change ; 
you  must  know  it ! " 

Her  head  was  bent,  and  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  There  was  a  change,  Irene,  and  you  drew  back  from 
me.  Am  I  not  right  ?  I  drifted  off  from  you,  and  tried 
to  persuade  myself  that  other  interests  and  other  hopes 
would  soon  take  your  place  with  me  ;  that,  in  the  path  of 
worldly  ambition  and  prosperity  lying  before  me  then, 
another  might  help  me  onward  better  than  you  could  ever 
do,  had  you  been  inclined  to  try.  But  I  believed  from 
•what  I  heard  and  what  I  saw,  that  you  were  not 
disposed  to  try.  So  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  I  could 
do  without  you  ;  that  to  a  man  of  my  age  the  feeling 
which  had  sprung  up  for  you  coxild  not  be  very  deep  ;  that 
it  would  not  nourish  without  any  return  from  you.  But 
it  was  all  a  mistake  and  a  delusion.  The  whole  of  that 
time  I  spent  at  Rockdeaue  was  in  many  things  a  delu- 
sion. It  was  not  'Ad  Ccelum'  then ;  it  was  'Ad  terram.' 
But  let  that  pass  now.  I  come  to  you  no  longer  with  rank 
and  wealth  to  offer  you,  but  only  myself,  and  such  honour- 
able position  as  I  may,  by  God's  help,  win  in  the  world. 
I  know  well  to  what  charge  I  have  laid  myself  open — 
to  the  charge  of  turning  to  you  in  the  valley  when  I  did 
not  care  to  do  so  on  the  heights  ;  but  I  must  bear  that,  and 


FLOWERS  OF  LOVE  AND  PEACE.          271 

if  it  is  possible  that  you  can  judge  me  gently  in  this,  the 
voice  of  the  whole  world  will  not  affect  me." 

Still  no  answer ;    would   she  never  speak  ? 

"  Irene,"  he  said  again,  and  now  his  sonorous  voice 
trembled  with  tenderness  and  depth  of  feeling  :  "  Irene, 
if  it  is  possible,  will  you  try  to  love  me ;  will  you 
try?" 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  lifted  her  sweet  face  to  his, 
in  the  fading  light.  It  seemed  to  shine  out  from  her  deep 
mourning  dress  with  almost  an  unearthly  beauty — a 
spiritual  beauty — which  is  never  seen  but  on  the  faces  of 
the  pure  and  true  of  heart — a  revelation  of  the  inner 
self ;  given  now  and  then,  to  tell  us  what  is  the  beauty 
and  what  is  the  loveliness  of  the  soul,  when  it  is  purified 
from  earthly  spots  and  stains ;  and,  as  far  as  may  be  in 
this  sinful  life,  reflects  the  image  of  Him,  who  alone  can 
thoroughly  purge  away  the  dross,  and  leave  the  silver 
refined  and  lustrous. 

"  Will  you  try  ? "  he  repeated  ;  and  the  answer  came 
with  no  uncertain  sound,  as  she  put  her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  try,"  she  said  ;  "  my  love  is  ready 
for  yoti,  if  you  wish  for  it ;  quite  ready,  Philip." 

His  name  left  her  lips  slowly  and  quietly;  and  he 
took  the  little  hand,  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  it,  saying, — 

"It  shall  be  Ad  Codum;  now,  my  darling,  my  dove 
shall  bring  me  peace,  and  in  the  upward  flight  she  shall 
lead  the  way." 

They  stood  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Cathedral, 
the  stars  coming  out  above,  and  the  autumn  twilight 
deepening  fast.  How  long  they  paced  up  and  down 
beneath  the  great  buttresses  of  the  east  end,  they  never 
knew.  But  when,  at  last,  they  turned  into  Ecclestone 
Square,  it  was  quite  dark,  and  the  lamps  were  all  lighted. 


272  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  It  is  very  late ;  they  will  think  I  am  lost,"  Irene 
said.  "  It  is  so  strange  not  to  have  Cuthbert  waiting  for 
me  and  expecting  me ;  so  strange,  too,  not  to  have  to 
tell  him  what  would  have  made  him  so  happy." 

"Perhaps  it  makes  him  happy  now,  and  your  mother 
too,  darling." 

"  Thanks,  for  thinking  of  her,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

They  were  on  the  steps  before  the  door,  now;  and 
Philip  lingered. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  come  in  or  not?  I  will  do 
what  you  wish." 

"I  think  I  would  rather  you  did  not  come  in  to-night. 
I  shall  find  it  easier  to  tell  Mary  and  Forster  alone." 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  will  not  be  news  to 
your  brother-in  law,"  said  Philip;  "he  has  known  my 
secret  for  a  long  time.  Good-bye,  and  God  bless  you,  my 
darling,  for  what  you  have  given  me  to-night." 

Irene  had  rung  the  bell,  and  before  the  door  opened, 
Philip  was  gone.  Irene  went  upstairs  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  sat  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  hush  of 
thankful  joy;  and  then,  with  a  quiet  serene  face,  went 
down  to  the  drawing-room  to  find  her  sister. 

Poor  Mrs.  Williamson  was  lying  on  the  sofa ;  and  when 
Irene  came  into  the  room,  she  scarcely  noticed  her. 

"  Is  that  you,  Irene  ?  how  late  you  are ;  have  you 
been  to  tea  with  old  Mrs.  Bolton  1  I  feel  very  lonely,  for 
Hilda  is  in  bed,  and  Randal  is  at  his  lessons.  I  think 
you  might  have  remembered  me." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mary,  I  am  so  late.  I  have  not 
been  to  Mrs.  Bolton's  to  tea  ;  I  sat  with  her  till  the  time  for 
service  at  the  chapel,  and  there  I  met  Philip  Dennistoun." 

Something  in  her  tone  made  her  sister  turn  her  head. 
"  Philip  Dennistoun  !  is  he  here  J  " 


FLOWERS   OP   LOVE   AND   PEACE.  273 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  come  to  Rockdeane  for  the  consecration  ot 
the  church ;  but,  Mary,  he  came  for  something  else  ', 
he  came  to  ask  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  thing,  Irene  !  If  when  he 
was  Sir  Philip  Dennistoun  of  Rockdeane  he  did  not  ask 
you,  I  don't  think  it  is  much  compliment  now;  though, 
of  course,  it  was  your  own  fault,  as  I  always  told  you. 
However,  I  should  think  the  present  baronet's  life  a  most 
uncertain  one  ;  and  no  one  can  tell — you  may  be  mistress 
of  Rockdeane  yet." 

How  this  purely  worldly  way  of  looking  at  her  great 
happiness  chilled  and  saddened  Irene,  I  cannot  tell.  She 
looked  across  to  the  vacant  corner,  where  the  little 
invalid  had  left  such  a  blank,  and  where  she  would  have 
been  so  sure  of  sympathy,  and  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 

"  Still,  I  am  very  glad  for  you,  Irene,"  her  sister  went 
on  presently ;  "  but  I  feel  so  dreadfully  depressed  and 
miserable,  only  to  have  three  children,  and  to  see  one 
suifer  as  my  darling  did,  and  then  after  all  our  care,  and 
hope,  and  anxiety,  it  is  hard  that  he  should  be  taken 
away,  not  by  the  disease  itself,  but  an  illness  which 
might  have  been  prevented.  Whitby  was  too  cold  for 
him,  and  he  lay  about  too  much  on  the  beach  and  cliff. 
We  were  all  to  blame  ;  I,  his  mother,  especially." 

"  Don't  say  so,  Mary,"  Irene  answered,  taking  her 
sister's  hand  ;  "  and  do  not  think  of  anything  but  that  it 
was  God's  will  that  Cuthbert  should  rest  from  a  life  of 
weariness  and  pain,  and  be  spared  privation  of  many  kinds, 
which  I  know  he  would  have  felt  more  and  more  acutely 
as  he  grew  older.  Then,  Mary,  think  of  what  he  has  left 
us — such  a  blessed  memory  of  faith,  and  tenderness,  and 
patience ;  and  we  shall  soon  go  to  him — very  soon." 
T 


274  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that,  with  the  world  just 
opening  before  you,  Irene,  and  your  happiness  just  found ; 
for  I  suppose  you  have  loved  Philip  Dennistoun  for  a 
long  time,  though  you  did  try  to  make  every  one  believe 
you  did  not  care  for  him.  And  when  will  it  be  ?  and 
where  are  you  to  live  ?  and  what  shall  we  do  without 

you?" 

The  last  question  was  a  very  genuine  expression  of  feel- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Williamson's  tears  burst  forth  afresh. 

Irene  soothed  and  consoled  as  best  she  could,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Mr.  Williamson  came  in.  He  went  up  to 
his  wife,  and  kissed  her  aifectionately ;  and,  seeing  her 
tears,  said,— 

"  You  should  not  lie  here  too  much,  dear,  the  room  ia 
so  full  of  associations,  and  the  blank  is  fearful,  I  know ;" 
and  he  sighed  heavily.  "  I  have  been  out  all  day ;  and  I 
havt  ordered  dinner,  tea,  and  supper  all  at  once,  so  come 
down  with  me,  and  help  me  to  eat  it." 

"  Irene  has  got  some  news  for  you,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Who  do  you  think  is  here  ?  not  in  this  house,  but  at 
Rockdeane." 

"  Philip  Dennistoun.  I  knew  he  was  coming  either  at 
the  end  of  this  week,  or  the  beginning  of  next.  After 
the  consecration,  he  intends  to  carry  off  the  hopeful 
scion  of  the  house  to  Oxford  with  him,  and — " 

"  But  the  news  concerns  Irene  ;  she  is  going  to  marry 
him  !" 

"  Ah,  is  the  secret  out  at  last,  then.  Well,  it  is  our  loss, 
but  his  gain.  But  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart, 
Irene ;  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of  you  has  got  the  best  prize. 
However  that  may  be,  we  are  all  agreed  as  to  what 
Dennistoun  is  ;  about  the  best  fellow  that  ever  trod  the 
earth.  It  is  something  to  remember  all  one's  life,  the 


FLOWERS  OF  LOVE  AND  PEACE.         275 

grand  and  noble  way  in  which,  he  took  both  his  good 
fortune,  and  the  loss  of  it.  But  we  shall  see  him  a  great 
man  yet.  I  mean  in  the  eyes  of  the  world ;  for  he  is 
already  known  at  the  Chancery  Bar,  where  some  men 
twist  their  thumbs  for  a  life-time.  He  will  be  a  great 
man  yet." 

"  He  is  great  already,"  Irene's  heart  whispered,  as  she 
returned  her  brother-in-law's  very  hearty  congratulation. 
"  Nothing  outward  can  add  to  this,  or  take  it  away.  I 
have  known  it  always.  I  know  it  now ;  and  he  is 
mine." 

The  consecration  of  the  little  church  of  St.  Michael's 
and  all  Angels'  was  attended  by  a  very  fair  sprinkling  of 
the  people  of  Rodham  and  its  neighbourhood.  Many 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  young  baronet  with  curiosity, 
for  he  had  led  so  secluded  a  life  that  he  was  not  known 
even  by  sight  to  a  large  proportion  of  those  assembled. 

Sir  Jasper  could  not  be  persuaded  to  issue  any  in- 
vitations for  a  luncheon  at  Rockdeane  after  the 
service;  but  Forrest  and  Mrs.  Mason  had  prepared  a 
cold  collation,  and  Mr.  "Williamson  and  Philip  let  it 
be  generally  understood  that  any  one  and  every  one  was 
welcome. 

Poor  Jasper  was  dismayed  to  see  how  many  availed 
themselves  of  the  opportunity  afforded  them  of  once  again 
entering  the  house  where  there  had  been  no  gathering  of 
any  kind  since  the  memorable  January  night  when 
Philip  had  known  that  he  was  no  longer  master  of  Rock- 
deane. 

During  luncheon  Sir  Jasper  was  ill  at  ease  and  nervous. 

He  called  the  good  old  Bishop,  "  Sir,"  and  Canon  Home, 

"  My  Lord."     He  was  covered  with  confusion  when  the 

Dean,  with  more  fluency  than  judgment,  made  a  neat 

T  2 


276  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

little  speech,  commending  him  for  carrying  out  the  build- 
ing of  the  church,  and  not  forgetting  to  refer  to  the 
restoration  of  Hildyard's  Almshouse  Chapel. 

Perhaps  Philip  had  never  found  himself  in  a  more 
trying  and  difficult  position  than  this — to  meet  so  many 
whom  he  had  known  under  different  circumstances  ;  to 
see  the  man  who  stood  in  his  place  so  incapable  of  filling 
it ;  to  do  everything  that  was  right,  without  appearing 
to  push  himself  forward,  was,  indeed,  a  test  of  presence 
of  mind  and  tact,  which  few  men  could  have  endured  ; 
but  he  came  out  of  this,  as  out  of  most  things,  with 
honour  ;  and  the  Bishop's  hearty  squeeze  of  the  hand,  at 
parting,  was  accompanied  by  the  words, — 

"I  congratulate  you,  with  all  my  heart,  upon  seeing 
the  church  completed,  and  for  the  kindliness  and  good 
feeling  you  have  shown  in  coming  here  at  all.  I  hope  you 
will  be  able  to  help  that  poor  boy  a  little.  He  repulses 
all  friendly  overtures  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  is  a 
great  mistake." 

Philip  laughed. 

"  I  am  going  to  carry  him  off  to  London  with  me,  and 
see  him  settled  at  Oxford ;  that  is  the  best  plan,  I 
think." 

"An  admirable  plan,"  said  the  Bishop;  "an  admir- 
able plan.  You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Sir  Philip." 

The  old  title  slipped  out. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  cure  myself,"  said  the  good 
Bishop. 

And  Philip  hastened  to  inquire  for  Lady  Catharine 
and  Lady  Eugenia. 

"  They  are  still  at  Brighton,"  the  Bishop  said.  "  My 
wife  was  veiy  much  knocked  up  with  London.  It  does  not 
suit  her ;  and  poor  Eugenia  overtaxed  her  strength. 


FLOWERS  OP  LOVE  AND  PEACE.         277 

How  long  do  you  stay  ?  Will  you  come  over  and  dine 
with  me  quietly  to-  morrow  ?" 

"  Thanks  ;  no.  I  leave  Rockdeane  to-morrow,  or  the 
next  day,  at  the  latest.  It  depends  upon  when  I  can  get 
Sir  Jasper  to  move." 

"Ah,  exactly.  You  don't  think  there  is  anything 
wrong  here  " — and  the  Bishop  tapped  his  forehead. 

"  Oh,  no,  decidedly  not ;  there  is  only  a  chaotic  mass, 
which  needs  arranging  and  bringing  into  order;  and  what- 
ever the  head  is,  I  am  quite  sure  the  heart  is  right.  Don't 
give  him  up,  my  lord  j  but  be  kind  to  him  when,  he  re- 
turns from  Oxford." 

"  You  may  be  very  sure  I  will,  especially  if  you  desire 
it,"  were  the  Bishop's  parting  words,  as  he  stepped  into 
his  carriage,  where  the  Chaplain  followed  him,  with  a 
great  deal  more  Episcopal  savour  about  him  than  his 
master. 

The  stream  of  people  turned  back  to  Rodham  about 
four  o'clock,  and  Sir  Jasper  and  Philip  were  left  alone. 
They  were  standing  on  the  terrace  together,  when  Sir 
Jasper  shivered,  and  said, — 

"  It  is  getting  very  chilly ;  the  damp  rises  from  that 
stream.  Had  we  not  better  go  in  1  " 

"  What  a  libel  on  this  crisp  autumn  air  to  call  it  chilly. 
Take  a  brisk  trot  with  me  round  the  place ;  it  will  do  you 
good." 

And  Philip  put  his  arm  kindly  into  Jasper's. 

"I  am  tired.  I  hope  I  shan't  have  to  go  through 
another  feed  like  that  for  a  long  time,  just  to  make  a  fool 
of  myself." 

"  Nonsense  j  depend  upon  it,  you  will  pick  up  wonder- 
fully when  you  have  been  to  Oxford." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go,"  he  began. 


278  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"  But  indeed  you  will.  By  the  first  train  on  Thursday 
morning  we  must  be  off." 

"  Oh  !  not  to-moiTow,  then  1 " 

"  No  ;  I  will  give  you  a  reprieve.  Jasper,  I  have  a 
great  attraction  in  Rodham,  and  I  am  coming  back  at 
Christmas  to  carry  it  away  with  me.  I  am  going  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Clifford." 

Jasper  turned  full  upon  Philip,  and  said,  in  the  most 
simple,  earnest  way, 

"  I  am  so  glad.  Why,  she  is  the  nicest  girl  I  ever 
saw,  though  she  is  not  grand  or  fashionable." 

"  And  for  these  reasons  finds  favour  in  your  eyes,  no 
doubt,"  said  Philip,  laughing.  "Well,  there  is  no  praise 
of  her  that  can  be  undeserved;  and  I  am  going  down 
now  to  Rodham  to  see  her,  and  I  shall  not  be  back  till 
nine  or  ten  o'clock,  I  dare  say." 

"  Order  the  carriage ;  it's  never  used ;  it  will  do  the 
horses  good.  In  fact,  what  is  the  earthly  use  of  my 
keeping  that  carriage  1 " 

"  No,  thanks ;  I  like  walking  best.  I  shall  be  down  in 
Rodham  before  the  carriage  could  come  round." 

"  What  a  happy  fellow  you  are,"  said  Jasper,  in  his 
melancholy  voice.  "  What  are  all  those  people  saying  of 
me  now,  and  of  you,  as  they  go  home  ?  I  know ;  they 
are  calling  me  an  idiot,  and — what  is  the  word — under- 
bred, and  a  fool,  unfit  for  my  position,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it ;  while  they  are  saying  of  you,  that  you  are — Oh  ! 
well,  they  can't  say  too  much  about  you,  I  know." 

"  I  say,  Jasper,"  said  Philip,  in  the  quiet,  elder- 
brotherly  way  in  which  he  always  spoke  to  the  boy, 
"  Remember,  there  is  fully  as  much  conceit  in  always 
underrating  ourselves,  and  dwelling  upon  our  faults  and 
failings,  as  in  boasting  of  our  supposed  virtues.  To  lose 


FLOWEKS  OP  LOVE  AND  PEACE.  279 

self  in  others  is  the  grand  secret  of  a  noble  life.  You 
may  make  yours  noble,  Jasper,  if  you  will  try.  You 
have  begun  well  here,  as  regards  substantial  things,  as 
that  pretty  white  spire  over  the  trees  there  testifies ;  and  as 
to  the  rest,  it  will  come.  Your  life  with  your  grandmother 
did  not  prepare  you  for  this,  but  God  has  called  you  to 
it ;  and  now  it  is  your  business — your  mission,  if  you 
like  it  better,  to  fit  yourself  for  it.  Good-bye ;  now  I 
am  off." 

Jasper  stood  where  Philip  left  him,  his  head  bent,  and 
his  attitude  one  of  extreme  dejection.  As  Philip  turned 
the  corner  of  the  house,  he  looked  back  at  him.  Genuine 
pity  thrilled  through  him  as  he  thought,  "The  sins 
of  the  fathers  visited  on  the  children  to  the  third  and 
fourth  generation.  Poor  Jasper  !  " 

Undoubtedly  Sir  Jasper  was  right  when  he  said,  "All 
those  people  will  go  home  talking  about  us ;  "  nor  was  he 
far  wrong  as  to  the  kind  of  comments  that  were  made. 

"  It  really  was  too  pitiable  to  see  a  youth  like  that  in  such 
a  position,"  Mrs.  Tillett  said ;  "  and  I  question  the  pro- 
priety of  Mr.  Dennistoun's  appearance  at  Eockdeane  just 
now.  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt  he  had  better  not  have 
come  ;  as,  of  course,  it  was  only  playing  a  part." 

"  Playing  a  part,  Mamma  ! "  said  one  of  her  daughters  ; 
"  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Dennistoun  could  act  anything." 

"  He  always  has  a  warm  defender  in  you,  Blanche,  I 
know,"  said  her  mother,  with  that  perpetual  smile  which 
was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  trying  characteristic  of  Mrs. 
Tillett's  face,  when  she  was  saying  anything  particularly 
bitter  or  disagreeable.  "  He  did  not  act,  I  suppose,  when 
he  professed  to  admire  Lady  Eugenia  Le  Marchant 
Poor  thing  !  I  hear  she  is  greatly  broken  down,  and  no 
wonder." 


280  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"  At  the  loss  of  the  position  and  estates  to  which  she 
aspired,  I  daresay  !  "  said  Mr.  Tillett,  with  a  sneering 
laugh.  "  But  I  agree  with  you,  that  piece  of  perfection, 
Dennistoun,  had  better  have  left  Rockdeane  alone  for  the 
present.  He  is  going  to  marry  the  lawyer's  niece  after 
all,  I  hear." 

"Niece!  sister-in-law  you  mean,  Papa;  that  charming 
Miss  Clifford  whom  every  one  admires." 

"  My  dear,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  relation  she 
is  to  Dennistoun 's  man  of  business.  These  sort  of  people 
may  marry  whom  they  please,  for  all  I  care.  Williamson 
holds  a  respectable  position,  I  believe  ;  but  it  is  nothing 
to  me  ; "  and  Mr.  Tillett  leaned  back  in  the  carnage  by 
his  wife,  with  the  proud  consciousness  of  superiority  in 
•which  he  delighted  to  wrap  himself. 

There  are  many  Tilletts  in  the  world,  who  earn  for 
themselves  that  unenviable  notoriety  which  is  accorded  to 
those  who  are  for  ever  standing  upon  their  own  dignities 
and  position,  and  judge  others  by  the  houses  they  live  in, 
the  coats  they  wear,  or  the  dinners  they  give  or  do  not 
give.  Let  them  pass,  as  the  Tilletts  do,  from  our  sight. 
To  all  true-hearted  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen,  in  the 
highest  acceptation  of  the  term,  their  remarks,  and  their 
discourtesies,  and  their  silly,  patronizing,  self-sufficient 
airs,  are  but  like  the  idle  lapping  of  the  little  noisy  brook 
against  the  grey  boulder,  which  it  is  powerless  either  to 
wash  over  or  to  disturb.  It  may  fret  the  lowest  ridge  with 
a  sense  of  annoyance,  but  it  cannot  take  away  aught 
from  its  strength  or  steadfastness ;  and,  in  the  time  of 
any  drought  or  scarceness,  when  the  little  babbler  is 
stilled  and  hushed,  the  rock  can  rear  its  head  proudly 
above  it  unchanged,  and  is  secure  in  a  foundation  which 
cannot  be  moved.  «. 


FLOWERS  OP  LOVE  AND  PEACE.         281 

***** 
***** 

It  was  on  the  morniug  of  the  last  day  of  the  old  year, 
which  had  brought  about  so  many  changes,  and  had  so 
altered  the  colour  of  her  life,  that  Irene  Clifford  sat,  in 
her  simple  bridal  dress,  in  the  little  room  at  the  top  of 
the  house,  which  she  was  now  so  soon  to  leave.  The 
wedding  was  to  be  necessarily  very  quiet,  and  there  was 
to  be  no  grand  display  of  dress  and  favours,  no  break- 
fast, with  speeches  and  decorations,  and  the  prescribed 
formula,  which  we  all  know  too  well — some  of  us  to  our 
cost ! 

But  nature  had  put  on  her  bridal  garments  to  do 
Irene  honour.  Snow  had  fallen  in  the  night,  and  now 
lay  in  its  first  spotless  purity  on  the  streets  and  trees  in 
the  square ;  while  a  brilliant  blue  sky  overarched  the 
city,  and  the  sun  rose  in  cloudless  majesty  over  the 
Rockdeane  Woods. 

"  Auntie  ;  "  it  was  Hilda's  little  voice,  and  then  came 
a  gentle  tap  at  the  door.  "  Auntie,  everybody  is  ready  ; 
and  do  look  here  ; —  " 

Irece  opened  the  door  to  her  little  bridesmaid ;  and 
took  a  lovely  bouquet  of  white  flowers  from  the  child's 
hand. 

" That  is  from  Sir  Jasper,"  she  said ;  "he  is  down- 
stairs ;  and  he  brought  it  himself,  and  one  for  me  and 
mother.  Philip  is  gone,  with  Mr.  Sandford  and  Randal, 
to  Church ;  and  you  are  to  come  now.  Auntie  " — and 
Hilda  looked  up  at  Irene  with  a  pretty,  childish,  inno- 
cent admiration — "  you  look,  oh  !  so  pretty." 

Irene  stooped  to  kiss  her,  and  said  :  "  Hilda,  darling, 
you  will  try  to  be  good ;  and  love  God,  and  remember 
Cuthbert." 


282  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child  ;  "  can  he  see  you  now, 
Auntie  ?  " 

"I  think  so;  I  think  he  is  very  near,  and  grand- 
mamma, too,"  she  added  in  a  low  voice. 

And  now  a  light  step  was  heard,  and  a  rustling  of  silk 
in  the  passage  ;  and  Rosie  Sandford,  looking  more  than 
ever  radiant  and  bright,  came  in. 

"  I  left  you  for  half-an-hour's  peace,"  she  said  ;  "  now 
you  must  really  come  down.  Your  sister  is  getting 
nervous  ;  and  the  gentlemen  are  gone — all  but  Forster, 
and  that  poor  Sir  Jasper,  whom  we  could  not  get  rid 
of." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,  Rosie,"  Irene  said ;  and  she  fol- 
followed  Mrs.  Sandford  downstairs,  and  went  to  the 
drawing-room. 

Mrs.  Williamson  was  tearful  and  tremulous  ;  and, 
when  she  advanced  to  kiss  the  sister  so  associated  with 
her  boy,  her  heart  was  too  full  to  speak.  But  her 
husband  asked  Sir  Jasper  to  take  her  at  once  to  the 
carriage;  and  Rosie,  and  her  brother  Jasper,  and  the 
little  bridesmaid,  Hilda,  followed. 

Then  there  were  only  the  bride  and  her  brother-in- 
law  left.  •  The  Rockdeane  carriage  conveyed  them  to  the 
Church  ;  and  a  crimson  carpet  had  been  spread  over  the 
narrow  paved  path  which  led  to  the  door,  which  con- 
trasted well  with  the  snow. 

The  usual  morning  service  began ;  and  the  small  bridal 
party  occupied  two  seats  near  the  chancel.  Irene  was, 
perhaps,  less  oppressed  with  that  dreamy  sense  of 
unreality,  which  comes  to  us  in  all  the  supreme  moments 
of  life,  than  many  are.  Her  soul  was  always  so  well 
attuned  to  heavenly  melodies,  that  earthly  noises  had  less 
power  with  her  than  with  many.  When,  at  last,  the 


FLOWERS  OP  LOVE  AND   PEACE.  283 

Marriage  Service  began,  and  she  knelt  by  Philip's  side, 
and  put  her  hand  in  his,  she  gave  him  one  look,  so  sweet 
and  trusting,  that  the  whisper  of  his  heart  was,  "My 
white-winged  dove — God  help  me  to  cherish  her." 

Very  soon  it  was  all  over,  and  she  was  his  wife.  As 
they  left  the  Church  together,  the  spectators  gathered 
there,  felt  the  gaze  of  curiosity  and  wonder  at  the  little 
display  or  pretension  of  the  wedding  changed  into 
one  of  admiration,  which  was  almost  reverence.  The 
faces  of  both  bride  and  bridegroom  were  so  stedfast  and 
serene  ;  and  fervent  was  the  "God  bless  them  both," 
which  broke  from  the  lips  of  many  of  the  old  pensioners, 
who  had  hobbled  up  to  St.  Stephen's,  despite  the  snow ;  and 
the  poor  people,  who  had  found  Irene  a  friend  in  many  of 
their  own  sorrows  and  joys,  now  came  to  show  their  love 
and  respect.  The  little  Warden  of  the  Chapel  had  assisted  at 
the  service  ;  and  he,  and  the  other  clergy,  were  the  only 
guests  present  at  the  breakfast,  beyond  the  small  circle  of 
relations. 

Even  one  term  at  Oxford  had  improved  Sir  Jasper, 
and  brushed  him  up  a  little ;  and,  when  he  shook  hands 
with  Irene,  he  said,  with  more  presence  of  mind  than 
might  have  been  expected  of  him  : — 

"  Here  is  my  present,  Mrs.  Denuistoun.  I  ought  to 
have  sent  it,  or  given  it  to  you  before  you  went  to 
Church,  I  suppose  ;  but  I  don't  know  the  proper  thing 
to  do  on  these  sort  of  occasions.  I  hope  you  will  like  it ; 
I  expect  you  will,  because  Philip  helped  to  choose  it." 

Irene  smiled  brightly  ;  and  unfastened  the  long  white 
parcel.  A  red  case,  with  her  initials  on  it,  came  out  of 
the  folds  of  paper ;  and,  on  opening  it,  she  saw  a  neck- 
lace of  large  pearls,  with  a  pendant  in  the  shape  of  a  dove. 
On  the  back  of  the  pendant  was  her  name — Irene.  She 


284  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

looked  at  Philip,  with  an  expression  which  implied  she 
did  not  need  to  be  told  it  was  his  selection. 

"  Thank  you,  so  much,"  she  said  to  Sir  Jasper ;  "  only 
it  is  too  beautiful  for  me  ;  "  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him. 

Jasper  took  it  in  both  his,  and  bent  over  it,  saying,  "  I 
know  you  will  be  happy ;  you  do  not  want  me  to  say  how 
I  hope  you  wilL" 

With  all  his  weakness  and  feebleness  of  mind  and  body, 
there  was  a  power  of  attachment  about  Jasper  which 
showed,  as  Philip  had  seen,  that  his  heart  was  in  its 
right  place.  As  the  bride  and  bridegroom  drove  off  to  the 
station,  no  wishes  were  more  fervent  than  those  with 
which  they  were  followed  by  Sir  Jasper  Dennistoun. 

"  So  she  is  gone,"  Mrs.  Bolton  said,  when  the  Warden 
returned,  after  all  was  over. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  gone,  my  dear ;  and  a  sweeter  bride  I 
never  saw.  She  sent  you  these  flowers,  from  her  wedding 
bouquet ;  and  Randal  is  going  round  the  Almshouses 
with  pieces  of  cake,  which  she  tied  up  herself  last  night — 
a  cake  made  for  distribution,  my  dear.  You  are  to  have 
a  piece  of  the  grand  original ;  Master  Randal  will  be  here 
with  it  in  a  few  moments.  Come,  cheer  up,  my  dear ; 
cheer  up ;  Mrs.  Dennistoun  is  happy  ;  and  what  can  you 
want  more  ?  " 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it ;  but  I  shall  miss  her  so  much. 
When  she  was  away  all  those  months  with  poor  Cuth- 
bert,  it  was  bad  enough  ;  but  then  there  was  a  hope  of 
seeing  her  again,  and  having  her  here.  Now,  last  night, 
as  she  sat  with  me,  and  sang  to  me,  I  felt  it  "was  for  the 
last  time." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  the  practical,  matter-of- 
fact,  little  Warden ;  "  how  do  you  know  it  was  for  the 


FLOWERS  OP  LOVE  A1O)  PEACE.         285 

last  time  1  Now,  let  me  tell  you  about  the  wedding. 
Mrs.  Sandforcl  looked  like  a  little  princess;  and  that 
great,  long-legged  husband  of  hers  seeins  to  adore  her ; 
that's  just  as  it  should  be,  of  course.  And  they  are 
coming  to  see  you,  to-morrow,  my  dear ;  so  you  must 
put  your  best  cap  on,  and  have  tea  and  biscuits  ready. 
They  mean  to  come  to  the  service  at  five  ;  and  will  pay 
you  a  visit  first.  Mi's.  Williamson  was  very  quiet  and 
subdued,  poor  soul ;  she  feels  that  boy's  death,  and  isn't 
like  the  same  woman.  But  she  managed  to  give  us  a 
very  pretty  little  breakfast ;  and  the  wine  was  excellent — 
the  dry  Champagne  particularly,  out  of  the  Rockdeane 
cellars,  I  fancy ;  but  I  may  be  wrong."  So  the  "Warden  ran 
on,  in  garrulous  fashion ;  finishing  up  with  the  informa- 
tion that  it  was  freezing  hard,  and  that  there  was  no 
doubt  that  there  would  soon  be  skating. 

When  Randal  came  in  with  the  cake,  this  piece  of 
information  was  repeated,  and  was  for  the  time  of  more 
importance  to  the  boy  than  anything  else ;  to  the  Warden 
also,  apparently,  though  his  skating  days  were  long  over; 
and  he  bustled  out  with  Randal  to  inspect  the  state  of 
the  pump  in  the  yard,  and  to  prepare  himself  for  reading 
prayers  in  the  chapel ;  for  his  assistant  was  away  "  holiday- 
making,"  as  the  Warden  said,  after  the  fashion  of  all 
young  men,  curates  or  others,  in  these  days.  Mrs.  Bolton 
was  left  alone  in  her  communings  with  the  past,  in  the 
glimmering  firelight ;  and,  as  the  perfume  of  Irene's 
flowers  came  to  her  like  a  message  to  tell  of  summer,  on 
this  wintry  afternoon  of  the  dying  year,  her  thoughts 
lingered  tenderly  on  the  bride,  who,  in  the  midst  of  all 
her  preparations,  had  found  time,  the  evening  before,  to 
sit  by  her,  in  her  old  place,  and  comfort  her  with  her 
sweet  and  gentle  presence. 


286  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  Like  them,  she  came  to  me,"  she  thought,  caressing 
the  flowers,  as  she  put  them  into  water,  "  in  the  winter  of 
my  life,  and  kindled  in  me  hope  of  the  other  life,  in  all 
its  never-dying  beauty,  and  has  led  me  to  look  for  forgive- 
ness and  peace  where  she  herself  has  found  it" 

So  Irene  passed  away  from  Rodham,  carrying  with  her 
a  blessing,  and  leaving  behind  her  the  memory  of  loving 
deeds  of  kindness  and  sympathy  which  will  live  in  the 
hearts  of  many,  while  she  sails  out  into  the  sea  of  life^ 
and  begins  a  new  chapter  in  her  earthly  history. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WORK,  AND  BEST. 

*  How  his  noble,  earnest  speeches 
With  untiring  fervour  came  ; 
Helper  of  the  poor  and  suffering, 
Truly  he  deserved  the  name." 

A.  A.  PEOCTBB. 

AFTER  many  changes  and  trials,  it  happens  to  most  of  us 
that  \ve  come  into  a  season  of  comparative  calm  and 
quietness. 

Our  lives  are,  so  to  speak,  divided  into  chapters,  some 
longer,  some  shorter  ;  but  there  are  few  of  us  who  cannot 
look  back  to  certain  eras  and  boundary  lines,  which,  if 
unconsciously  at  the  time,  still  most  surely  divide  us  from 
the  past,  and  are  as  barriers  which  mark  the  severance 
from  old  ties,  and  that  insensible  stepping  into  a  new 
order  of  things  which,  in  their  turn,  become  familiar, 
and  in  their  turn,  too,  shall  pass  away. 

Of  the  most  monotonous  and  apparently  uneventful 
lives  this  may  be  said  to  be  true  ;  but  these  changes  are, 
in  such  cases,  often  hidden  from  all  human  eyes,  and  are 
not  seen  or  noticed  by  others.  In  other  lives  such 
changes  are  patent  to  the  most  casual  observers ;  and 
•we  see  the  poor  suddenly  made  rich,  the  rich  poor, 
the  family  so  long  untouched  by  dkease  or  death 


288  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

visited  in  quick  succession  by  illnesses,  and  losses,  and 
bereavements,  or  the  troubled,  changeful,  unsettled  life, 
by  some  unexpected  circumstance  become  quiet  and 
prosperous  !  Most  truly  has  it  been  said  that — 

"  This  world's  law  is  ebb  and  flow ; " 

and  experience  teaches  us  more  and  more  the  force  and 
deep  significance  of  the  words. 

From  the  opening  of  that  new  year  which  saw  Irene 
become  Philip  Dennistoun's  wife,  a  time  of  happiness 
was  given  to  her  of  which  I  could  give  no  detail  here.  It 
was  a  daily  interchange  of  thoughts  and  sympathies,  an 
ever  growing  delight,  which  had  its  root  deep,  and  from 
whence  blossomed  flowers  of  beauty  and  loveliness,  of 
which  the  first  were  gathered  in  Eden,  and  which,  in 
spite  of  the  thorns  and  briars  of  little  worries  and  petty 
troubles,  true-hearted  husbands  and  wives  have  continued 
to  gather  from  that  time  till  now.  No  very  great 
measure  of  prosperity  had  been  given  them.  Philip 
worked,  and  laboured,  and  distinguished  himself  at  the 
Chancery  Bar ;  and  many  eyes  were  upon  him,  and  fore- 
told greater  things  yet.  His  name  was  known  in  schemes 
for  the  help  of  the  masses  which  lay  near  his  own 
door.  A  brave  and  earnest  Vicar  of  one  of  the  East-end 
parishes  in  London  was  his  great  friend  ;  and  in  the 
second  year  of  his  marriage,  when  he  had  sent  Irene  and 
his  boy  to  Stow  for  a  month's  country  air,  he  told  her 
he  was  going  to  take  a  little  independent  holiday,  where 
she  could  not  follow  him. 

The  shadow  which  gathered  in  her  eyes  cleared  away, 
as  he  said, 

"  You  must  trust  me,  dear.  I  am  going  to  sound  some 
depths,  and  you  shall  hear  the  result." 

She  did  trust  him ;    and   when,    the   day  after  they 


WORK,   AND   REST.  289 

parted,  she  had  a  letter  from  a  certain  Mercy  Place,  far 
down  in  the  worst  neighbourhood  of  the  Docks,  she 
understood  it  all. 

"Once  a-year,"  he  wrote,  "I  must,  at  least,  bring 
myself  face  to  face  with  the  evils  which  I  so  much  desire 
to  see  ameliorated ;  once  a-year,  Irene,  you  will  spare 
me  for  this  end.  Is  it  not  better  to  gain  a  practical 
knowledge  of  the  misery  and  the  sin  which  abounds, 
than  to  write  letters  in  the  '  Times,'  or  to  be  Secretary 
to  some  great  Relief  Association,  or  vituperate  Boards 
of  Guardians  ? " 

And  Irene's  heart  answered,  "  Yes"  Every  year  these 
depths  were  sounded ;  every  year  Irene  bore  all  Mrs. 
Dennistoun's  satire  and  regret  that  Philip  should  be 
so  very  eccentric ;  every  year  she  gloried  more  in  what 
her  husband  did ;  and  the  day  when  she  was  present  at 
the  opening  of  the  large  school-house  was  a  proud  day  to 
her — when  Philip  inaugurated  the  machinery  of  a  club 
for  the  working  men,  and  a  school  for  the  children,  and 
provided  every  means  to  awaken  in  the  poor  the  desire 
of  helping  themselves,  thereby  pulling  down,  it  may  be 
by  but  a  grain  at  a  time,  the  huge  mountain  of  pauperism, 
and  misery,  and  sin,  which  now  rises  up  in  the  heart  of 
our  great  cities,  and  cries  unto  God  with  an  exceeding 
bitter  cry. 

"  What  it  must  be  to  live  here  in  all  this  ugliness,  and 
want  of  beauty  ! "  Irene  said,  as  they  turned  their  steps  to 
the  Vicarage  together. 

"Ah,  what  it  is  ! "  he  answered.  "Are  you  not  glad, 
dear,  I  tried  it  for  a  month  myself  1  One  month  out  of 
the  twelve.  It  is  nothing  ;  but  it  is  all  I  can  do ;  and 
I  have  seen  and  felt  with  these  poor  souls,  which  gives 
me  a  hold  on  them,  and  makes  them  trust  me." 

u 


290  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  Yes ;  how  they  seem  to  look  up  to  you,  Philip. 
I  wish  I  could  help  more." 

"  No,  darling  ;  you  could  not  help  me  more.  You  are 
my  rest  when  I  am  tired,  and  my  comfort  always ;  besides, 
there  is  the  boy  to  look  after." 

"And  make  him  like  you,"  she  said,  with  a  pressure 
on  his  arm. 

So  the  years  went  on.  "  The  boy,"  as  his  father  always 
called  him,  was  followed  by  three  little  sisters  j  and  the 
small  house  in  Wilton  Place  had  to  be  exchanged  for  a 
larger  one. 

In  the  summer  of  the  seventh  year  of  their  married 
life,  Irene  went  with  her  children  to  Stow ;  and,  after 
Philip's  month  in  Mercy  Place,  George  Sandford  and  he 
were  to  start  for  a  mountain  expedition,  as  of  old. 

Stow  was  a  rambling  old-fashioned  many-gabled  house, 
standing  in  its  own  wide  grounds,  and  backed  by  its  own 
trees  and  rising  pasture  lands. 

On  a  hot  August  afternoon  a  little  party  was  assembled 
on  the  lawn.  A  great  tulip  tree  gave  a  pleasant  shade, 
and  beneath  it  were  gathered  the  elders  of  the  family, 
with  books  and  work ;  while  the  children  played  about 
on  the  lawn,  and  were  tossing  a  large  ball  about  hither 
and  thither.  Presently  Philip  came  rushing  across  the 
grass  to  his  mother.  He  was  the  only  boy  in  the  group. 
Rosie's  children  were  little  girls,  and  they  were  about  the 
same  age  as  Irene's. 

"  I  am  tired  of  the  girls,  mother,"  he  said  ;  "  may  I 
go  with  Uncle  George  to  the  station,  to  meet  father  1  " 

"  Take  care,  Philip — how  rough  you  are — you  nearly 
upset  my  basket  of  wools.  Irene ;  you  really  should  keep 
that  boy  in  order." 

"  Gently,  Philip ;  you  must  mind  what  grandmamma 


WORK,    AND   REST.  291 

says.  Yes,  I  think  you  may  go  to  the  station,  if  Uncle 
George  will  take  you  ;  but  you  must  get  that  dirty  face- 
washed  first,  and  your  hair  brushed." 

He  was  off  in  a  moment,  his  mother's  eyes  following 
him  with  a  proud  happy  look. 

"What  a  fine  fellow  he  is,"  Rosie  said;  "and  so 
exactly  like  Philip." 

"  I  don't  think  he  is  nearly  so  good  looking,"  said  Mrs. 
Dennistoun ;  "  certainly  not  as  good  looking  as  Philip 
used  to  be;  but  all  his  hard  work,  and  these  absurd 
ideas  of  his,  have  told  on  him." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  mother,"  was  Rosie's  reply  ;  "and  I 
think  Philip  is,  as  he  always  was,  the  perfection  of 
strength  and  activity." 

"  He  is  not  near  so  tall  as  my  George  :  is  he,  dear  ?" 
said  old  Mrs.  Sanclford,  who  sat  quietly  in  her  arm-chair 
under  the  tree,  with  a  thick  rug  under  her  feet,  and  only 
chimed  in  now  and  then  with  a  little  remark. 

Her  husband  had  died  three  years  before,  and  George 
and  Rosie  were  now  the  real  master  and  mistress  of 
Stow. 

Rosie's  attention  to  her  husband's  parents  had  been 
throughout  very  pleasant  to  witness ;  and  now  the  old 
widow  resigned  herself  to  the  quiet  of  the  evening  of 
life  ;  and,  as  long  as  she  had  her  own  corner  by  the  fire- 
side in  winter,  and  in  the  garden  in  summer,  she  was 
content.  The  unbounded  admiration  she  had  for  the  son. 
of  her  old  age  was  shared  by  his  wife.  Neither  of  them 
could  do  anything  wrong  in  her  eyes ;  and  she  was  of 
such  a  placid,  gentle  disposition  that  her  presence  was 
never  felt  as  an  oppression. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  scarcely  looked  older  than  when  we 
first  saw  her.  Her  fine  figure  was  erect  and  still  graceful, 

2 


292  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

though  her  forehead,  perhaps,  was  marked  with  deeper 
lines,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was  more  careworn 
and  anxious. 

There  never  was  a  self-willed,  weak  boy  like  Jasper, 
who  has  not  caused  endless  trouble  and  anxiety  to  his 
family  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  Philip  he  would  have 
been  irretrievably  ruined.  But  Jasper  had  been  kept  in 
check  by  a  firm  wise  hand  ;  and,  though  terribly  priggish 
and  conceited,  and  given  to  big  talk  and  pretension,  he 
was  reading  pretty  steadily  with  a  tutor  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  was  to  go  to  Oxford  for  the  Michaelmas  Term. 
Philip  would  have  preferred  his  being  sent  into  ati  office, 
and  made  to  earn  his  own  living  at  once ;  but  his  mother 
had  pinched  and  saved,  in  every  possible  way,  to  send 
him  to  the  University,  and  represented  so  eagerly,  that  at 
the  Bar  or  in  the  legal  profession  Philip  could  help  him 
on  so  much  better  than  any  other  way,  that  he  did  not 
like  to  hold  out  against  it.  That  Jasper  had  failed  to  matri- 
culate on  his  first  attempt  was  a  wholesome  lesson  to 
his  conceit  and  pride,  and  Philip  made  the  most  of  it  by 
stipulating  that  he  should  really  read  steadily  with  the 
tutor  he  selected,  for  a  year  before  he  gave  his  consent  to 
his  going  up  for  another  trial. 

At  one  time  Mrs.  Dennistoun  showed  an  inclination  to 
promote  a  friendship  between  her  boy  and  Sir  Jasper ; 
but  Philip  soon  discouraged  it,  and  finding,  that  after  one 
visit  to  Rockdeane  his  brother  had  an  unusual  supply  of 
pocket  money,  and  that  several  reminders  of  his  having 
been  at  Rodham  followed  him  home,  in  the  form  of  bills 
forbid  his  ever  going  there  alone  again. 

There  was  a  curious  similarity  in  the  two  Jaspers, 
which  used  often  to  strike  those  who  knew  them  both. 


WOBK,    AND  REST.  293 

Sir  Jasper  had  decidedly  improved  in  manners  and 
appearance  since  he  had  been  at  Oxford  ;  but  after  his 
time  there  was  over  he  had  relapsed  into  his  old 
habits  of  seclusion,  and  his  health  being  really  weak  and 
feeble  he  could  more  easily  excuse  himself  from  much 
exertion. 

Dr.  Simpson  renewed  his  constant  attendance  at  Rock- 
deane,  and  repeated  again  and  again,  as  he  was  admitted 
by  Forrest,  "  that  it  was  like  old  times." 

"  A  deal  too  much  like  old  times,"  Forrest  would  say 
to  Mrs.  Mason.  "  It  is  \innatural  for  a  young  man, 
though  in  some  ways  it  might  be  natural  for  an  old 
gentleman." 

By  degrees,  however,  everything  seemed  to  fall  into 
the  old  groove  ;  and,  except  for  the  bright  modern  furni- 
ture in  the  deserted  rooms,  which  were  now  never  used, 
it  might  have  been  old  Sir  Jasper  who  sat  in  the  remote 
corner  of  the  big  house  instead  of  the  young  grandson, 
who  filled  his  place. 

Once  every  year  Philip  went  to  see  his  cousin  in  the 
shooting  season ;  and  that  was  the  time  when  poor  Sir 
Jasper  seemed  always  to  be  the  brightest  and  happiest.  It 
awakened  him  for  a  time  from  his  indolent,  dreamy  life ; 
and  to  take  a  day's  shooting  with  Philip  was  one  of  his 
greatest  pleasures. 

Two  or  three  times  he  had  been  Philip's  guest ;  and, 
under  Irene's  influence,  he  had  expanded  into  what  had 
certainly  not  been  expected  of  him.  But  natural  tem- 
perament can  never  be  wholly  altered  j  and  the  self- 
consciousness  and  the  self-depreciation  of  the  boy  did 
not  lessen  in  the  man,  while  there  seemed  no  impetus 
sufficient  to  rouse  him  to  a  life  of  action  and  usefulness. 

Just  as  the  children  had  all  cleared  off  to  the  nursery 


294  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

tea,  the  wheels  of  the  dog-cart  were  heard  returning ; 
and  Irene  went  swiftly  off  to  meet  her  husband. 

"  Here's  father,  all  right,"  little  Philip  shouted ;  "  and 
I've  been  driving ;  haven't  T,  Uncle  George  1 " 

"  Yes ;  to  the  great  peril  of  our  necks,  my  boy,"  said 
Philip,  as  he  sprang  do\vn  to  Irene's  side. 

One  glance  was  sufficient  to  tell  Irene  that  her  husband 
was  well  and  vigorous.  The  effect  of  a  month  in  Mercy 
Place  was  always  rather  dreaded ;  and  yet  every  year 
her  want  of  faith  seemed  reproached  :  for  Philip  always 
looked  as  brisk  and  well  as  when  he  returned  from  an 
Alpine  expedition. 

Rosie  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  now  came  up  to  the  hall- 
door,  to  welcome  Philip ;  while  Philip  the  Less  was  still 
mounted  on  the  dog-cart,  and  coaxing  his  Uncle  George 
to  let  him  drive  round  to  the  stables. 

"  You  must  have  your  own  way,  I  suppose,"  said 
George  Sandford ;  "  but  let  me  empty  my  pockets  of  the 
letters.  I  called  at  the  Post  Office  for  the  North  delivery. 
Here  is  one  for  you,  Irene;  and  Philip  has  had  one. 
Half-a-dozen  for  you,  little  woman,  of  course,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  wife ;  "  and  one  for  Mrs.  Dennistoun, 
from  Jasper,  I  take  it.  Now,  then,  Philip  the  Less,  you 
shall  hold  the  reins,  and  we  will  betake  ourselves  to  the 
stables." 

Irene  had  disappeared,  and  now  came  back,  followed 
by  her  two  little  girls ;  and  the  youngest,  a  baby,  in.  her 
arms. 

"  Papa,  father ! "  Ida  and  Gertrude  shouted ;  "  have 
you  brought  us  a  dollie  1 " 

They  always  spoke  in  the  plural  number ;  for  in 
nothing  were  they  divided — sweet,  rosy  little  maidens 
of  three  and  four  years  old ;  while  the  baby,  who  was 


"WORK,    AND   REST.  295 

only  ten  months,  was  transferred  to  her  father's  arms, 
cooed  and  smiled  at  him,  and  entangled  her  fingers  in  his 
long  whiskers. 

"  Little  Irene,"  he  said ;  "  does  she  deserve  her  name 
as  much  as  ever  1  She  is  very  much  grown  and  improved, 
too  ;  real  country  roses  in  all  their  faces,  and  in  yours, 
too,"  he  said,  looking  at  Irene,  and  with  one  disengaged 
hand  stroking  her  bright  hair. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  quaint  old  house,  with  its 
stone  copings  and  pointed  gables,  they  made  a  picture 
which  no  one  could  have  seen  without  a  sense  of  admira- 
tion, and  perhaps  thankfulness,  that  throughout  this 
troubled  world  of  ours  are  scattered  groups,  to  whom  our 
Father  has  given  of  the  pleasant  things  of  life  richly  to 
enjoy;  and  has  bound  together  loving  hearts  in  the  beauty 
and  sweetness  of  domestic  ties. 

"  This  letter  is  from  Jasper,"  Mrs.  Dennistoun  said ; 
"  he  is  coming  over  for  Sunday,  and  he  would  like  to 
join  you,  Philip  and  George,  in  your  tour ;  only  I  suppose 
the  expense  may  be  a  hindrance. 

Philip  never  could  endure  to  hear  Mrs.  Dennistoun 
throwing  out  hints  to  her  generous  son-in-law  for  help  to 
carry  out  any  whim  of  Jasper's ;  and  he  said,  shortly, — 

"  Our  kind  of  tour  would  not  suit  Jasper.  We  shall 
walk  most  of  it,  and  do  an  amount  of  climbing  that 
would  frighten  you  to  think  of.  But  I  have  had  another 
offer  of  a  fellow-traveller  in  this  letter — one  equally  unfit 
to  keep  up  with  our  long-legged  friend.  By-the-bj^ 
George,  do  you  see  your  last  book  of  Alpine  feats  is  in 
another  edition,  and  well  reviewed  ? " 

"  Not  I ;  I  don't  trouble  myself  about  reviews.  I  leave 
Rosie  to  gather  up  my  scanty  laurels  for  me.  I  am  a 
great  deal  more  set  up  about  my  last  treatise  on  the 


296  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

drainage  of  waste  land.  I  am  become  such  a  practical 
man.  Come,  Philip  the  Greater,  acknowledge  that.  An 
improved  character,  eh !  Rosalie  ? " 

"At  any  rate,  I  know  where  to  find  you  when  I  want 
you,"  said  Philip,  "  which  is  more  than  I  could  have  said 
some  years  ago." 

"  Ah !  that  is  the  result  of  magnetic  influence — isn't  it, 
Rosalie?" 

But  Philip  had  turned  to  Irene,  and  said,  "  Take  the 
children  away,  and  come  and  have  a  turn  with  me  before 
dinner,  out  of  every  one's  way.  How  sweet  and  pure 
and  good  the  country  is,  after  Mercy  Place." 

She  ran  off  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  the  elder  chil- 
dren following  her.  Then  she  returned  to  Philip  ;  and, 
putting  her  hand  within  his  arm,  they  turned  together 
into  a  plantation  which  skirted  the  grounds  of  Stow,  and 
was  always  a  favourite  resort  of  theirs. 

"Well,  darling,"  Philip  said,  as  they  sat  down  at  the 
end  of  a  long  grassy  path,  which  ran  through  the  planta- 
tion to  the  road  above  ;  "  what  does  your  letter  say  1 " 

"It  is  from  Mary ;  she  wants  to  see  us  very  ncmch, 
and  proposes  a  meeting  at  Malvern,  if  I  do  not  go  to 
Rodham." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  Rodham  ? " 

"  For  some  things.  With  you  I  should  like  it ;  but 
it  is  a  long  journey,  and  expensive  with  all  these  children. 
I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  right;  and  I  want  you  to 
have  your  Alpine  excursion  so  much.  You  must  need 
it  after  Mercy  Place,  and  all  your  hard  work  before 
you,  too  " 

"  I  don't  absolutely  want  it ;  but  it  is  three  years  since 
I  looked  on  the  mountains.  Not  since  you  and  I  were 
there  together,  and  it  is  always  a  refreshment.  Still,"  he 


WORK,   AND  REST.  297 

added,  "I  am  not  very  keen  about  it  this  time.  Sir 
Jasper  wants  to  join  Sandford  and  me,  and  I  am  sure  it 
wouldn't  answer ;  he  would  knock  up,  and  lie  heavy  on 
hand,  poor  fellow !" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Don't  have  him  ;  it  will  only  be  a  tie. 
Both  the  Jaspers  are  best  left  behind,  I  am  sure." 

Philip  did  not  answer.  He  was  lying  on  the  turf  at 
his  wife's  feet,  looking  up  into  the  deep  blue  summer  sky, 
as  it  shone  out  through  the  tracery  of  the  old  Scotch  firs, 
whose  red  trunks  were  streaked  with  a  golden  light  as 
the  sun  slanted  on  them.  A  few  birds  were  tiying  the 
preludes  of  their  evensong,  and  there  was  a  delicious  cool- 
ness in  the  soft  breezes  after  the  heat  of  the  day. 

"This  is  perfection,  in  its  way,"  Philip  said.  "We 
can  but  have  perfection  ;  and  yet  we  are  always  hanker- 
ing after  something  more  than  we  have — something  higher 
and  better.  When  I  think  of  those  thousands  I  have 
left  behind  me  to  whom  a  glimpse  of  real  blue  sky,  or 
the  scent  of  flowers,  or  the  sight  of  a  tree  is  unknown, 
I  feel  as  if  the  inequalities  of  life  were  too  great." 

"  But  we  know  they  are  not,  Philip,  though  it  seems 
a  problem  we  can't  solve.  You  have  done  your  best — I 
am  so  proud  when  I  think  of  it ! — and  Mr.  Yernon  said, 
the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that  it  was  a  great  deal  more 
what  you  were,  when  you  went  abroad  amongst  those 
people,  than  what  you  said." 

Philip's  serious,  earnest  face  was  still  turned  skyward. 

"  Irene,"  he  said,  presently ;  "  while  it  is  really  '  Ad 
Coelum,'  it  is  all  right  with  us ;  but  we  are  so  apt  to 
mistake  uneasy  fluttering  towards  fancied  good,  for  soar- 
ing ;  or,  rather,  for  determined  persistent  climbing." 

Then,  after  another  minute's  silence,  he  started  up, 
and  one  of  his  merry  laughs  made  Irene  say — 


298  HEIGHTS   AND  VALLEYS. 

"  What  is  it,  Philip  ?" 

"  I  have  forgotten  to  show  you  a  work  of  art,"  he  said, 
feeling  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  producing  at  last  a 
yellow  envelope.  "  I  sat  to  an  East-end  artist  for  my 
photograph,  at  the  corner  of  Mercy  Place,  and  the  result 
is,  he  has  sent  me  forth  for  sixpence — '  my  living  himage,' 
as  my  landlady  expresses  it" 

No  wretched  coarse  delineation,  or  black-and-white 
shadows,  with  rough  hard  edges,  could  quite  destroy  the 
noble  face  at  which  Irene  looked,  joining  in  her  hus- 
band's merriment,  but  still  acknowledging  to  herself  that 
the  sixpenny  photograph  was  her  Philip ;  and  feeling  a 
sense  of  kinship  and  sympathy  with  the  people  about 
Mercy  Place. 

"  Have  many  been  sold  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  a  large  copy  is  to  be  hung  up  in  your 
schoolroom,  in  a  gilt  frame." 

"  My  schoolroom  !"  Irene  repeated.  "Why  will  you 
always  call  it  mine  1 " 

"  Did  not  the  profits  of  two  of  your  books  go  into  it  ? 
And  as  I  have  told  you  before,  that  fifty  pounds  was  the 
beginning ;  and  it  is  always  le  premier  pas  which  is  of  the 
greatest  value.  And  how  have  you  prospered  here  this 
time  ?  Have  the  children  been  good  1  Philip  the  Less, 
I  hope,  has  not  fallen  out  with  his  Grannie  1 " 

"  No ;  he  is  a  very  good  boy.  Of  course  there  are  ups 
and  downs ;  but  he  has  a  noble  disposition,  and  is  very 
easily  managed,  if  one  only  goes  the  right  way  to  work. 
Ida  and  Gertrude  are  really  more  trouble;  and  then 
Rosie's  children  are  spoiled,  and  this  tells  on  them  a 
little." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Philip;  "how  can  it  be 
helped,  while  that  old  lady  keeps  unlimited  chocolate- 


WORK,   AXD  REST.  299 

creams  in  her  pocket,  and  dispenses  them  at  all  hours,  and 
never  says  '  no,'  either  to  George  or  Rosie — much  less  to 
the  children  1 " 

So  they  talked  on,  of  many  things,  till  the  distant 
sound  of  the  dressing-bell  made  them  retrace  their  steps 
to  the  house. 

There  are  rare  moments  in  life  when  we  realise  our  hap- 
piness— when  we  feel  that  we  are  in  the  sunshine  of  God's 
smile — and  that  He  has  crowned  our  lives  with  goodness. 
Such  moments  come  upon  us  unexpectedly.  Seldom,  if 
ever,  are  they  found  in  circumstances  to  which  we  have 
looked  forward,  or  in  the  reality  of  some  favourite  dream 
or  vision  in  which  we  have  indulged.  Rather  do  they 
come  to  us  as  angels'  visits  came  of  old  to  patriarch  or 
prophet,  and  shed  a  soft  and  holy  radiance,  to  which  we 
look  back  through  mists  of  tears,  and  recal  eveiy  little  detail 
of  the  moment  which  came  and  went  and  left  a  blessing 
behind. 

Some  such  thoughts  filled  Irene's  heart  as  she  walked 
through  the  green  vista  of  firs  and  pines  with  her  hus- 
band that  afternoon.  The  western  sunlight  flickered 
athwart  the  turf,  and  here  and  there  touched  little  clusters 
of  ferns  and  flowers  with  living  beauty. 

Before  they  turned  into  the  open  ground  again,  Philip 
stopped  ;  and,  looking  down  upon  Irene's  upturned  face, 
kissed  it  again  and  again.  There  was  no  need  of  words  ; 
they  had  found  their  happiness  in  each  other,  and  nothing 
could  destroy  it.  For  the  heavenly  Love  was  the  key- 
note to  which  the  earthly  love  was  ever  set.  That  music 
knows  no  jarring  discord,  though  a  minor  strain  may  run 
through  the  melody,  and  God's  voice  be  heard  in  it,  say- 
ing—  "I  give  and  I  take  away;  but  my  Name  is 
Love." 


300  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

The  next  day  Philip  came  to  Irene,  as  she  sat  in  the 
garden  with  the  children  round  her,  and  said — 

"  I  have  altered  my  plans  a  little.  I  shall  go  to  Rock- 
deane  before  George  and  I  set  off  on  our  travels,  and  I 
shall  take  you  with  me.  Rosie  is  quite  happy  that  you 
should  leave  the  children  here,  and  then  we  can  come 
back  together  as  far  as  Malvern  with  Mary  and  her 
children;  and  George  will  bring  Rosie  and  her  rose- 
buds to  join  us ;  so  we  shall  have  a  happy  and  united 
family — not  unlike  those  caged  pets  which  go  about  in 
Mercy  Place — till  our  return." 

Irene's  eyes  shone  with  pleasure. 

"  A  week  alone  with  you  will  be  delightful ;  only, 
ought  I  to  leave  the  children  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  think  so ;  they  will  be  in  safe  hands," 
and,  he  added  tenderly,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  you  all 
to  myself." 

"Am  I  to  stay  at  Rockdeane  ]  it  will  be  so  strange." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  wish  to  have  you  there.  So  now  we  will 
put  things  in  train,"  he  added,  in  his  decided  way  ;  "  and 
start  the  day  after  to-morrow.  You  must  not  cast 
lingering  looks  behind  after  the  three  babies,  and  Philip 
the  Less." 

"  I  shall  not  do  that  while  I  have  Philip  the  Greater," 
she  said  ;  and  then  Rosie  came  down  out  of  the  house  in 
a  very  unmatronly  fashion,  and  George  strode  after  her 
in  his  usual  leisurely  way,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of 
his  shooting  coat,  and  a  very  battered  straw  hat  over  his 
eyes. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  the  children,"  Rosie  said  ;  "  and 
on  the  4th  September,  we  will  all  meet  at  Malvern." 

"  Take  care  of  the  children  !  of  course  we  will,"  said  her 
husband.  "  I  will  whip  them  all  round  every  morning, 


WORK,    AND   REST.  301 

and  begin  with  this  young  rascal.  I  am  off  to  see  the 
colts  now ;  will  you  come,  Philips  Less  and  Greater  ? 
No,  no  ;  not  the  little  women,"  he  said,  as  the  little 
girls  toddled  after  him  ;  "  no,  no." 

Ida  and  Gertrude  turned  back  at  once  with  rather 
rueful  faces  ;  but  Rosie's  little  daughters  set  up  a  roar, 
and  had  to  be  pacified  by  Grannie,  who  came  trotting  out 
at  the  sound  of  their  screams,  with  her  usual  specific  of 
chocolates  and  bonbons.  Ida  and  Gertrude  needed  no 
such  comfort ;  they  were  soon  contented  by  their 
mother's  assurances  that  little  girls  could  not  always 
do  what  boys  did,  and  ran  away  to  play  with  their 
nursemaid,  while  the  baby  Irene  was  carried  in  for  her 
morning's  nap. 

Sunday  was  a  very  happy  quiet  day.  Jasper  spent  it 
with  the  rest  of  the  large  family  party  ;  and  Irene  confessed 
to  herself  that  he  was  wonderfully  improved.  He  was 
more  chivalrous  and  kind  to  his  mother,  and  she,  at 
least,  could  see  no  faults  in  him,  and  was  unusually 
benignant  and  genial,  as  she  presided  over  a  pretty  tea 
after  service  on  Sunday  afternoon  in  her  own  little  home 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  grounds  of  Stow,  which  was  a 
bijou  in  its  way,  and  the  very  picture  of  elegance  and 
comfort. 

On  Monday,  Philip  and  Irene  started  ;  George  Sandford 
driving  them  to  the  station,  and  watching  the  departing 
train,  with  little  Philip  at  his  side.  The  child's  great 
wistful  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  had  with 
difficulty  kept  down  his  sobs  when  his  mother  gave  him 
her  last  kiss.  George  Sandford  did  not  guess  with  what 
tumultuous  grief  that  little  true  heart  was  heaving  as  he 
himself  went  whistling  out  of  the  station.  But,  as  he 
gave  the  child  a  great  toss  up  on  to  the  box  seat  of  the 


302  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

carriage,  lie  caught  sight  of  the  quivering  lips  and  tearful 
eyes : — 

"  Hallo  !  Philip ;  cheer  up,  my  boy ;  -we  will  have  a 
jolly  time  of  it,  and  in  ten  days  we  shall  all  be  off  together 
to  Malvern  ;  and  then  it  will  be  your  father's  and  mother's 
turn  to  come  to  the  station  to  meet  you." 

"  Oh  !  Uncle  George,  how  do  you  know  1 "  the  boy  said, 
with  a  burst  of  grief,  which  was  yet  kept  wonderfully  in 
check  for  his  age.  "  How  do  you  know  1  it  will  be  an 
enormous  long  ten  days  before  I  see  mother  again ;  so  long, 
it  is  like  never." 

"  You  are  a  queer  little  man,"  George  ejaculated,  half 
to  himself ;  and  then  he  began  to  divert  the  boy's  mind, 
by  talking  about  the  little  grey  pony  he  had  begun  to 
ride  at  Stow,  and  stopped  at  the  sadler's  in  the  High 
Street  of  Bruton,  and  delighted  the  child,  by  buying 
for  him  a  little  riding  whip  with  a  silver  handle,  on 
which  he  ordered  his  name  to  be  engraved  in  full  :— 
"  Philip  Cuthbert  Dennistoun." 

Irene  had  only  been  at  Ilodham  once  since  her 
marriage,  during  one  of  Philip's  absences  in  Mercy  Place, 
and  then  she  had  been  her  sister's  guest ;  and  as  it  was 
during  Sir  Jasper's  college  days,  she  had  only  gone  to 
Rockdeane  once  with  Forster  Williamson,  and  Randal, 
and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  Forrest  and  Mrs.  Mason. 
But  this  visit  was  different.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a 
dream,  as  she  drove  up  the  hill  with  her  husband,  in  the 
carriage  which  was  sent  to  meet  them  ;  and  she  pressed 
Phi  lip's  hand  tight  in  hers,  as  they  drew  near  to  the  old 
oak  door,  where  the  eagle  presided,  with  its  never 
changing  motto  beneath — "Ad  Coelum." 

"  You  have  not  been  here  since  my  short  reign, 
dearest,"  he  said;  "but  I  have,  and  I  have  long  ceased 


WORK,    AND   REST.  303 

to  have  any  lingering  regrets ;  it  is  so  much  better  as  it 
is — for  me — and  for  you  too,  perhaps." 

"  It  must  be  ;  what  is  best  for  you  is  best  for  me,"  she 
answered.  When  the  carriage  stopped  before  the  door, 
Sir  Jasper  was  standing  in  the  hall,  and  gave  them  a 
welcome  which  was  heartfelt  and  real.  He  looked  pale 
and  thin,  Philip  thought,  and  had  a  constant  cough. 

"  You  are  in  no  state  for  an  Alpine  expedition,"  he 
said,  when  they  were  left  alone  after  dinner.  "  I  think 
you  should  go  out  more  at  home,  especially  in  fine 
weather.  Where  have  you  been  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  nowhere ;  I  have  had  some  letters  to  write, 
and  all  the  accounts  to  go  over  with  Forrest,  and  to 
settle  about  the  re-letting  of  one  of  the  farms.  You 
know  old  Smith's  widow  has  married  again,  and  is  in. 
treaty  for  it." 

"  Yes,  I  knew  she  was  married ;  and  I  hope  has 
drifted  into  smoother  waters  with  her  second  husband. 
But,  Jasper,  you  don't  look  strong  or  vigorous,  and  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  so  down." 

"  It  is  no  matter  how  soon  I  die,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Dr.  Simpson  says — " 

"  Pshaw  !  don't  pin  your  faith  to  that  old  woman. 
I  beg  his  pardon ;  but  now  we  are  here,  throw  physic  to 
the  dogs,  and  try  fresh  air  instead.  Let  us  take  three  or 
four  days  at  the  lakes  together.  The  other  day  you  were 
writing  about  Switzerland,  and  wishing  you  could  go 
with  Sandford  and  me  there;  try  your  powers  nearer 
home  first.  I  can  make  out  a  nice  little  route,  and  we 
wfil  be  back  again  in  time  for  the  partridges  on  the  1st." 

Jasper  shook  his  head. 

"  I  only  mentioned  Switzerland  one  day,  when  I  felt 
restless,  as  I  do  sometimes.  I  never  had  any  serious 


304  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

intention  of  going.  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Philip  ;  but  I 
would  rather  be  left  in  peace,  and  there  will  be  plenty 
for  you  and  your  son  here  when  I  am  cleared  off." 

Philip  pushed  back  his  chair  impatiently  :  this  hypo- 
chondriacal  grumbling  was  infinitely  trying  to  his 
patience. 

"  "Well,  let  us  go  and  hear  Irene  sing,"  he  said ;  "  and 
then  we  will  discuss  our  plans  with  her." 

But  no  discussion  was  of  any  avail ;  and  three  days  after 
Philip  and  his  wife  had  arrived  at  Rockdeane,  the  most 
pitiless  and  persistent  rain  set  in,  which  swelled  the 
stream  below  the  scar  into  a  torrent,  so  that  it  rose  to  the 
level  of  the  little  foot-bridge  across  it,  and  put  an 
expedition  to  the  lakes  out  of  the  question.  On  the 
night  of  the  31st  of  August,  the  weather  seemed  to  reach 
a  climax,  and  many  were  the  anxious  eyes  which 
sportsmen  turned  to  the  stormy  sky,  at  sunset,  and  many 
were  the  doleful  prophecies  about  the  morrow  which 
were  indulged  in,  with  yet  a  secret  hope  behind  that 
things  might  turn  out  better  than  was  expected.  At 
midnight,  a  furious  storm  swept  over  the  country  from 
the  direction  of  the  Irish  Channel ;  and,  as  was  reported 
in  the  papers,  Derwent  water  and  Windermere  were 
lashed  into  fury.  There  were  several  flashes  of  forked 
lightning,  and  double-barrelled  peals  of  thunder,  and 
the  heavens  seemed  literally  to  open,  while  the  rain 
descended  in  one  vast  sheet.  The  rushing  of  the  little 
stream  beneath  the  windows  of  the  room  Philip  and 
Irene  occupied,  became  like  the  voice  of  many  waters, 
and  one  of  the  bridges  was  swept  away.  Towards 
morning,  just  as  day  dawned,  the  storm  abated,  and  when 
the  sun  rose  in  a  cloudless  sky,  at  five  o'clock,  there  was 
a  great  calm. 


WORK,    AND   REST.  305 

"  We  shall  have  a  good  day's  sport  after  all,"  Philip  said, 
when  he  came  in  to  breakfast.  "  The  keepers  say  the 
game  will  rise  well  after  such  a  night.  It  is  worth 
coming  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  Irene,  to  look  at  the 
stream.  Put  a  shawl  over  your  head,  for  it  is  rather  cold, 
although  so  calm  and  bright." 

She  took  a  plaid  scarf  from  the  stand  in  the  hall,  and 
Philip  wrapped  it  round  her,  and  they  went  out  together 
to  the  brink  of  the  scar. 

"  Who  would  believe  that  the  waters  could  swell  like 
that,  and  the  little  musical  stream,  which  is  generally  so 
clear  and  bright,  look  so  disturbed,  and  make  such  a 
deafening  roar." 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  Irene  said,  with  a  shudder,  turning 
away ;  "  it  is  like  looking  at  a  face  usually  serene 
and  gentle  in  its  expression,  distorted  with  passion. 
It  is  so  different  to  the  grandeur  of  the  sea  in  a 
storm." 

Again  she  shivered,  and  Philip  said  : — 

"  Come  iu  again  ;  you  will  catch  cold  ;  these  autumn 
mornings  in  the  North  are  very  chilly.  You  are 
to  take  a  day  in  Rodham  with  Mary,  are  you  not  1 
and  then  you  are  to  bring  her,  and  Randal,  and 
Hilda  back  to  dinner.  Forster  is  to  join  our  shooting 
party,  if  he  can  give  himself  a  holiday.  Is  not  that 
the  order  of  the  day  1 "  he  said,  as  they  re-entered 
the  drawing-room,  addressing  Sir  Jasper,  who  was 
inspecting  a  pair  of  enormously  thick  boots  which  were 
before  the  fire. 

"  Oh  !  yes ;  good  morning ;  but  I  am  afraid  the 
ground  will  be  awfully  wet  to-day.  I  hope  you  are  well 
shod,  Philip.  We  are  to  beat  up  the  fields  and  coppice 

x 


306  HEIGHTS   AJTD   VALLEYS. 

beyond  the  church  ;  that  will  be  as  far  as  I  shall  be  good 
for,  to-day." 

"  Very  well,"  Philip  said  ;  "  anywhere  you  like  ;  but 
we  shall  have  to  go  round  by  the  moor,  for  the  upper 
bridge  is  washed  away." 

All  the  plans  and  counter  plans  were  made  ;  and  at  ten 
o'clock  Irene  started  in  the  pony-carriage  to  Rodham, 
leaving  the  sportsmen  at  the  door.  As  she  drove  away, 
she  looked  back  at  her  husband,  and  kissed  her  hand. 
His  firm,  well-knit,  erect  figure,  with  the  game-bag  slung 
over  his  shoulder,  and  his  gun  under  his  arm,  was  a 
contrast  indeed  to  the  small,  stooping  form  of  Sir  Jasper, 
who  was  wrangling  in  a  very  undignified  way  with 
the  keepers  about  some  trifling  matter  connected  with  one 
of  the  dogs.  Irene  could  not  help  keeping  her  head 
turned  towards  the  group,  till  the  curve  in  the  drive  hid 
it  from  her  sight.  Just  as  she  lost  sight  of  him,  Philip 
raised  his  hat,  and  waved  it,  and  the  little  bay  pony  bore 
her  swiftly  down  the  hill  towards  Rodham. 

Irene  spent  a  pleasant  day  amongst  her  old  friends. 
She  sat  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Bolton,  and  the  old  Warden, 
who  was  scarcely  as  brisk  as  in  former  days,  but  as  full 
of  small  talk  as  ever.  Although  years  had  passed  since 
Irene's  slight  figure  had  been  familiar  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  Almshouses,  a  smile  of  glad  welcome  greeted  her 
from  those  of  the  old  pensioners  who  were  yet  living. 

Randal,  now  a  tall,  gentlemanlike  boy  of  fifteen,  came 
for  his  aunt  to  the  Almshouses  at  one  o'clock,  and  took 
her  back  to  luncheon.  There,  in  the  familiar  drawing- 
room  at  Ecclestone-square,  thoughts  of  Cuthbert  came  to 
Irene,  like  a  sweet  message  from  the  past,  and  a  hope  for 
the  future. 


WORK,    AND   REST.  307 

Mrs.  Williamson  still  looked  young  and  handsome. 
She  was  full  of  the  country  house  to  which  they  were  to 
remove  in  the  early  spring,  and  was  rejoicing  in  her 
emancipation  from  the  town  life,  which  she  detested,  not 
from  any  great  appreciation  of  trees,  and  flowers,  and 
beauty,  but  more  from  the  undoubted  fact  that  people 
who  lived  out  of  the  place  to  which  their  profession 
bound  them  could  take  a  better  stand  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

"  A  retired  grocer  is  to  take  this  house  when  we  leave 
it,"  Mrs.  Williamson  was  saying;  "and  it  is  far  more 
suitable  for  people  of  that  class." 

Irene  smiled.  Life  in  London,  and  life  with  Philip, 
had  almost  swept  away  the  remembrance  of  all  these 
little  country-town  distinctions,  with  which  she  had  once 
been  so  familiar. 

"  Hilda  will  be  very  pretty,"  her  mother  was  saying ; 
"  and  I  do  wish  her  to  have  every  advantage,  and  get  into 
the  best  society." 

"  That  is  still  rather  far  off,  is  it  not  ?  "  Irene  asked ; 
"  I  mean,  her  coming  out.  She  is  only  thirteen." 

"  Oh  !  she  is  quite  old  enough  now  to  take  some  tone 
from  those  with  whom  she  associates.  Here  she  comes 
from  her  German  class.  Randal  has  been  to  fetch  her." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  very  pretty  girl  of  thirteen 
rushed  in,  and  threw  her  arms  rapturously  round  Irene's 
neck. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  her  mother,  "  what  a  whirlwind 
you  are.  Your  aunt  will  not  thank  you  for  such  rough 
embraces." 

"Indeed  I  shall,"  said  Irene  ;  "and  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  coming  to  Rockdeane  this  afternoon,  Hilda,  with 
Randal." 

x  2 


308  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS 

"  Yes  ;  and  we  are  to  dine  at  seven.  I  like  dining 
late,"  said  Hilda  ;  "I  am  to  wear  my  blue  frock,  cut 
sqxiare  ;  am  I  not,  mother  ]  " 

"  Oh  !  of  course  you  must  be  smart,"  said  Kandal, 
contemptuously ;  "I  believe  you  have  as  many  '  gets  up ' 
as  there  are  days  in  the  year." 

"Run,  and  get  ready  for  luncheon,  Hilda,"  said  her 
mother ;  "  I  am  the  best  judge  of  your  dress.  And, 
Randal,  I  should  advise  you  to  do  the  same." 

Randal  departed,  whistling ;  and  his  mother  said, 

"  He  will  improve  at  Rugby,  I  think.  I  should  have 
preferred  Winchester  •  but  Forster  thought  it  too  expen- 
sive, and  too  far.  Have  you  heard  anything  of  Lady 
Eugenia  lately  ?  "  Mrs.  Williamson  asked. 

"  No  ;  not  for  some  years  ;    not  since  her  marriage." 

"  Well,  I  believe  that  has  turned  out  very  unhappily ; 
or,  at  least,  doubtfully.  She  has  no  children  ;  and  they 
live  a  great  deal  abroad  for  her  health.  Mr.  Kerr  was 
not  nearly  so  rich  as  she  expected,  people  say  ;  and  he 
lost  his  post  in  the  Government  by  some  means.  That 
must  have  been  a  great  blow  to  such  an  ambitious 
woman." 

"  Poor  Eugenia  !  "  Irene  said.  "  There  was  so  much 
to  like  in  her." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  thought  so,"  was  her  sister's 
response,  "  but  you  have  always  the  way  of  finding  out 
something  to  like  in  every  one.  You  used  to  defend 
the  Tilletts  and  Thornycrofts,  and  all  that  kind  of  people." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  Irene  ;  and  her  eyes  looked  out  on  the 
balcony  where  she  had  stood  with  Cuthbert  one  morning, 
watching  Philip  ride  out  of  the  Square,  with  a  dreamy, 
far-away  expression  in  them. 

She  remembered  the  boy's  burst  of  sorrow,   and  the 


WORK,   AND  REST.  309 

question,  "  Auntie,  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  say  never 
about  anything  1  "  and  her  answer. 

"  He  knows  now,"  she  thought ;  "  he  knows  now — 
better,  oh  !  how  much  better  than  I  do — that  the  then 
and  the  now  are  only  parts  of  God's  great  whole.  My 
now  is  so  happy,  my  present  so  full  of  love  and  peace ; 
but  it  may  vanish,  and  change  ;  and  Cuthbert's  now  is  for 
ever  in  the  paradise  of  God." 

She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  announce- 
ment of  luncheon ;  and  then,  when  it  was  over,  she  and 
Randal  set  off  to  the  Cathedral  for  the  three  o'clock 
service. 

"  Forster  will  not  come  home,  and  I  shall  order  the  fly 
to  take  us  to  Rockdeane  at  half-past  five.  You  will  not 
keep  us  waiting,  Irene  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  Randal  and  I  will  take  care  of  each  other, 
and  be  punctual." 

And  then  she  walked  with  her  nephew  out  of  the 
Square,  and  reached  the  Cathedral  just  as  the  second 
chime  was  sounding. 

"  There  is  a  good  anthem  to-day,"  Randal  said,  as  he 
paused  a  moment  at  the  pillar  where  the  list  of  services 
were  hung  up.  "  It  is,  '  In  that  day  shall  this  song  be 
sung.'  You  know  it,  don't  you,  Auntie  ? " 

Irene  gave  a  sign  of  assent,  and  then  they  passed  into 
the  choir  together. 

It  was  a  service  long  to  be  remembered.  There  are 
times,  we  know  not  why,  or  how,  when  our  souls  can 
rise  on  the  wings  of  faith  and  prayer  with  less  efiort  than 
at  others.  Times  when,  in  God's  House,  the  world  seems 
shut  out,  and  we  are  at  the  Gate  of  Heaven.  Thus  it  was 
with  Irene  now  ;  and  when  the  last  note  of  that  glorious 
anthem  had  died  away  she  felt  that  the  peace  in  which 


310  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

God  keeps  His  beloved  was  hers ;  for  did  she  not  trust  in 
Him,  and  was  there  not  in  Him  everlasting  strength  ] 

The  words  fell  upon  other  ears  than  Irene's  with  a 
strange  prophetic  power.  Just  outside  the  choir  door 
Forster  Williamson  was  standing,  with  his  face  so 
troubled  and  so  changed  from  its  usual  bright  expression 
that  the  vergers,  keeping  watch  with  their  rods  of  office 
in  their  hands,  looked  curiously  at  him,  as  they  passed 
him  on  their  patrol  from  transept  to  transept.  At  last 
the  organ  began  the  concluding  voluntary,  the  choir  door 
opened,  and  the  congregation  came  out  into  the  nave. 
One  by  one  they  passed  Forster  Williamson,  and  at  last 
Irene  came.  On  her  face  seemed  to  linger  the  reflex 
of  the  peace  of  which  the  choir  had  sung.  Her  brother- 
in-law  looked  at  her,  but  she  did  not  see  him.  She  went 
down  the  long  nave,  and  he  followed  with  Randal. 
Randal  touched  his  father's  arm. 

"  What  is  it,  father  1" — for  he  saw  that  something  was 
amiss.  "  What  is  it,  father  ?" 

But  he  strode  on  to  the  door,  through  which  Irene  had 
just  passed,  as  if  he  dare  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  and 
laying  his  hand  on  her  arm,  said, — 

"  Irene,  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  dear.  Come 
with  me  now." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


"DE  PROFUXDIS." 

u  THE  heart  which  like  a  staff  was  one 

For  mine  to  lean  and  rest  upon  ; 
The  strongest,  on  the  longest  day, 
With  steadfast  love,  is  caught  away, 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on. 

"  I  praise  Thee  while  my  days  go  on, 
I  love  Thee  while  my  days  go  on, 
Through  dark  and  dearth,  through  fire  and  frost, 
With  emptied  arms,  and  treasure  lost, 
I  thank  Thee  while  my  days  go  on." 

E.  B.  BROWNING. 

IRENE  stopped,  and  turned  to  Forster  with  a  questioning 
appealing  look. 

"  Is  it  the  children  1     Is  my  baby  ill  f ' 

"  No  ;  but  there  has  been  an  accident,  and  Philip  is 
hurt.  I  have  a  carriage  ready ;  I  will  take  you  to  Rock- 
deane  at  once." 

"  Philip  !" 

Only  that  one  word. 

Then  she  clasped  her  hands  in  mute  appeal,  while  her 
face  was  blanched  to  death-like  paleness,  and  involuntarily 
she  caught  at  her  brother's  arm  for  support 

"  This  way,"  he  said,    "  dear  Irene.     The  carriage  is 


312  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

•waiting  by  the  south  gate  of  the  Close  " — for  she  seemed 
powerless  to  guide  herself,  and  walked  as  if  in  a  troubled 
dream. 

He  dreaded  lest  they  should  attract  notice,  and  hastened 
on,  telling  Eandal  to  go  forward  and  open  the  carriage- 
door,  that  there  might  be  no  delay.  Then  he  helped  her 
in,  and  seated  himself  beside  her,  taking  the  small  cold 
hand  in  his.  He  had  no  great  comfort  to  give  her,  or 
how  gladly  would  he  have  spoken,  and  she  seemed  to  feel 
it  instinctively.  Presently  she  spoke  : 

"  Tell  me,  Forster,  please,  everything — he  is  alive — I 
shall  see  him." 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  but—" 

Poor  Forster's  voice  was  choked,  and  he  felt  the  little 
hand  tighten  its  grasp  on  his. 

"  How  was  it  1  try  to  tell  me.  I  wish  to  know  every- 
thing !" 

Oh,  the  childlike  earnestness  with  which  she  spoke. 
Her  voice,  like  the  voice  of  one  in  great  agony,  which 
was  with  an  effort  calmly  and  patiently  endured. 

Forster  Williamson  rallied  his  energies,  and  told  his 
sad  story : — 

"We  were  all  coming  back  from  shooting,  this  after- 
noon, when  Sir  Jasper  said  he  was  done  up,  and  Philip 
suggested  that  we  should  cross  the  stream  by  the  lower 
bridge,  and  come  up  the  Rockdeane  grounds  that  way. 
The  upper  bridge  was  washed  away  last  night.  In  the 
morning  we  went  round  by  the  moor.  You  know  the 
stream  was  swollen  by  the  late  rain,  and  that  to-day  it 
is  more  like  a  river." 

"  I  know,"  she  said ;  "  it  was  dreadful.  I  saw  it  this 
morning" — and  she  shuddered,  and  closed  her  eyes, 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  those  angry  waters. 


"DE  PROFUNDIS."  313 

"  Go  on,  please,  Forster ;    God  will  help  me    to   bear 
it." 

"  When,  we  reached  the  bridge,  Philip  was  ahead  of 
us,  and  passed  over  with  the  keepers  and  Mr.  Farrant, 
the  bailiff ;  I  was  left  on  the  other  side,  with  Sir  Jasper. 
'  Keep  a  steady  head,'  Philip  called  out,  as  I  put  my  foot 
on  the  bridge ;  '  and  don't  look  at  the  water,  it  will  make 
you  giddy,  Williamson.'  I  went  forward  carefully,  and 
thought  Sir  Jasper  was  following ;  but  when  I  reached 
the  opposite  bank  he  was  still  standing  where  I  had 
left  him.  'Come  on,  Jasper,'  Philip  said;  'and  don't 
stand  ruminating ;  it  is  better  not  to  deliberate  in  a  case 
like  this.'  But  Sir  Jasper  hesitated.  'I  shall  fall  in  if  I 
try  to  come.  My  head  wouldn't  stand  it.'  At  least  that 
is  what  I  think  he  said  ;  but  his  voice  was  lost  in  the 
sound  of  the  waters,  though  Philip's  rang  clear  above  it. 
'I  shall  have  to  come  back  for  you,  I  suppose,'  Philip 
said.  '  Be  a  man,  Jasper,  and  come  by  yourself.'  I  think 
something  like  pity,  and  perhaps  contempt  too,  for  the 
miserable  indecision  Sir  Jasper  showed,  moved  Philip  to 
go  to  his  assistance.  He  did  look  pitiable  enough  as  he 
stood  there,  and  at  last  made  a  few  steps  in  advance, 
clinging  to  the  railing  with  one  hand,  his  gun  in  the  other. 
Philip  put  down  his  gun  and  game-bag,  which  was  full  and 
heavy,  and  called  out  to  Sir  Jasper  to  stop  till  he  reached 
him.  He  was  halfway  over,  and  had  just  caught  Sir  Jasper's 
hand  in  his,  when — whether  his  head  gave  way,  or  what, 
I  can't  say — with  a  shrill  cry  Sir  Jasper  fell  into  the  water, 
his  gun  going  off  at  the  same  moment,  for  he  was  carry- 
ing it  loaded.  Philip  we  thought  had  fallen  too ;  but  it 
was  not  so.  He  had  thrown  himself  into  the  seething, 
boiling  current  to  save  that  helpless  figure,  which  we  now 
saw  struggling  against  the  stream,  and  rapidly  carried 


314  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

down.  Once  he  sank,  and  Philip,  too,  disappeared  ;  and 
then  Mr.  Farrant  and  I  saw  him  rise  far  below,  battling 
with  the  water.  A  great  boulder  of  rock  stopped  their 
downward  course;  and  as  Tarrant  and  I  rushed  with  the 
keeper  to  the  bank,  we  heard  Philip's  voice, — '  I  have  him 
safe.'  Such  a  triumphant  voice  it  was." 

Forster  Williamson  stopped,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hand.  "In  another  minute,  Philip  was  near 
enough  for  us  to  help  him,  and  Sir  Jasper  was  safe  on 
the  bank.  We  expected  to  see  Philip  make  for  the 
shore  ;  but  when  Sir  Jasper's  hold  was  relaxed  he  fell 
back,  and  the  stream  swept  him  down  to  the  great  rock 
again  with  relentless  force.  The  keeper  waded  up  to  it, 
for  the  water  was  shallow  there,  though  very  tumultuous 
and  strong,  and  dragged  Philip  out.  Then  we  knew  first 
the  extent  of  the  mischief  ;  he  had  a  gun-shot  wound  in 
his  left  arm,  and  was  insensible  from  loss  of  blood  with 
the  almost  miraculous  exertions  he  had  made  to  save  Sir 
Jasper." 

"  It  was  like  his  heroic  noble  nature,"  Forster  added, 
passionately.  "  Now  I  have  told  you  all,  Irene." 

"  Everything  1 "  she  asked ;  then,  after  a  pause  :  "  Is 
there  any  hope  ?  " 

"  The  doctors  were  with  him  when  I  left  Rockdeane," 
he  answered.  "As  far  as  I  could  gather,  there  was  more 
to  fear  than  to  hope." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  drive,  Irene  was  silent. 
Forster  wished  she  would  burst  into  weeping,  or  some 
outward  expression  of  distress  ;  but  such  natures  as  hers, 
pierced  in  the  very  tenderest  part,  make  no  great 
demonstration  in  their  hour  of  need.  When  at  last  the 
carriage  stopped  before  the  door,  Irene  loosened  her  hold 
of  Forster's  hand,  and  gave  one  short  cry  of  exceeding 


"DE  PROFTJNDIS."  315 

bitter  anguish,  as  the  image  of  her  husband  rose  before 
her,  standing  under  the  old  Eagle,  as  she  had  seen  him 
last  that  morning,  the  very  ideal  of  manly  strength  and 

vigour,  and  now  ! .  But  she  was  soon  calm  again, 

and  passed  through  the  group  of  distressed  and  frightened 
servants,  with  unfaltering  steps.  Mrs.  Mason  met  her 
on  the  stairs,  and  said  : — 

"  Will  you  not  wait  a  little,  dear  lady,  before  you  go  in 
to  the  room  1  " 

"  No ;  please  take  my  bonnet  away,  Mrs.  Mason,"  she 
answered,  unfastening  the  strings,  and  giving  it  and  her 
little  tight- fitting  jacket  to  the  housekeeper. 

"I  would  rather  go  to  him  alone,"  as  Porster  was 
following. 

He  did  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  tell  her,  that, 
perhaps,  there  would  be  no  recognition  for  her  in  the 
eyes  over  which  the  shadow  of  Death  might  be  even  now 
gathering.  But  there  is  always  awe  and  fear  in  the 
presence  of  a  grief  like  Irene's. 

No  one  attempted  to  interfere,  and  she  went,  as  she 
wished,  alone  to  her  husband.  They  had  taken  him 
to  his  own  room,  known  always  as  Sir  Philip's  room,  and 
where  the  picture  of  the  cavalier  of  Charles's  time 
hung.  One  of  the  Rodham  surgeons  was  by  the  bed 
where  Philip  lay.  Dr.  Simpson  and  another  surgeon 
were  with  Sir  Jasper.  It  thrilled  through  Irene's  stricken 
heart  to  hear  Philip's  voice  : — 

"  Is  that  you,  my  darling  1  " 

She  went  up  to  him,  and  said  : — 

"  Yes,  dearest ;  "  subduing  all  outward  demonstration 
of  pain  for  his  sake. 

"I  have  been  asleep  or  dreaming,"  he  said ;  "and, 
even  now,  I  cannot  quite  remember  what  it  is." 


316  HEIGHTS   AND  VALLEYS. 

"  Do  not  try,  dear." 

"  What  is  the  extent  of  the  injury,  Mr.  We  st  1 " 

"  There  is  a  gun-shot  wound  in  your  arm,"  said  the 
surgeon ;  "  and  we  think  some  injury  too,  perhaps,  to 
the  spine ;  but  we  hope  to  keep  up  your  strength,  and 
when  Mi\  Byron,  who  is  telegraphed  for,  from  Liverpool, 
arrives,  we  shall  be  able  to  make  a  full  examination." 

"  Sir  Jasper  is  safe?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  saved  his  life,  Mr.  Dennistoun,"  was  Mr. 
West's  reply,  in  a  voice  of  deep  emotion,  and  holding 
some  stimulant  to  his  lips. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  his  accustomed  courtesy. 
"  I  am  in  no  great  pain ;  can  you  leave  me  now  alone 
with  my  wife  1  " 

Mr.  West  looked  doubtful. 

"  Please  tell  me  what  to  give  him  and  what  to  do,  and 
I  will  send  for  you,  if  he  wants  you,"  Irene  said. 

"  We  should  not  like  to  be  absent  from  Mr.  Dennistoun 
long,"  Mr.  West  answered.  "I  will,  however,  go  away 
for  a  quarter-of-an-hour.  Do  not  let  more  than  ten 
minutes  elapse  without  offering  stimulant." 

"  No,"  said  Irene  ;  "  you  may  trust  me." 

Mr.  West  withdrew  ;  and  Philip  said,  anxiously  : 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dearest." 

"  Irene,  my  child,  this  is  a  great,  great  trouble  for  you ; 
for  I  think  I  am  going  from  you." 

She  bowed  her  face  upon  the  hand  she  held,  and  did 
not  speak. 

"  While  I  am  able,  I  wish  to  say  a  few  things  to  you. 
Will  you  send  for  a  clergyman,  and  let  us  have  our  last 
communion  together  soon.  That  is  the  great  point.  Then, 
about  the  children."  His  voice  faltered.  "  Philip  the 


"DE  PROFUNDIS."  317 

Less  will  be  a  comfort  to  you  I  know.  If  lie  ever  succeeds 
here,  teach  him  what  'Ad  Coelum'  means.  Let  poor 
Jasper  do  what  he  wishes  for  him  ;  but  don't  let  him  be 
indulged,  or  made  to  think  this  world  is  all.  I  am  sorry 
for  poor  Jasper,  for  I  think  he  loved  me  in  his  own  way. 
Thank  God,  I  saved  his  life.  Don't  let  him  hear  about 
the  gun-shot  wound ;  it  is  not  that — which  is — which 
will  kill  me.  It  was  a  blow  I  had  against  a  bit 
of  rock.  I  felt  it  at  the  time  ;  I  was  flung  by  the  power 
of  the  water  against  that  large  boulder,  like  a  feather." 

The  large  grey  eyes  closed,  and  Philip's  face  grew  deadly 
pale.  Irene  held  the  brandy  to  his  lips,  and  roused  him 
to  swallow  it.  He  revived  again,  and  said  : — 

"  We  have  been  very  happy  together,  darling,  and  we 
shall  be  happy  again.  You  must  try  not  to  forget  that  I 
am  only  gone  first.  You  will  try  to  bear  on  bravely,  my 
dove — my  Irene." 

"  I  will  try,"  she  said ;  "but,  oh  !  Philip  !  Philip  !  is 
it  possible  ;  must  I  live  without  you  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  God's  will,  it  is  possible  ;  and  you  must  do  it, 
my  child." 

There  was  the  old  decided  tone  in  the  answer  ;  and  it 
strengthened  her. 

"  I  should  like  the  little  work  in  Mercy  Place  to  go 
on.  If  Sir  Jasper  offers  money,  take  it  ;  and  let  Mr. 
Vernon  have  it.  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  Mr.  Vernon  ; 
but  it  cannot  be." 

"  I  will  telegraph  for  him,"  Irene  said. 

Philip  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  a  long,  long  journey  ;  he  would  be  too  late." 

Then  he  was  silent,  and  his  eyes  closed  again  ;  but  his 
lips  moved,  and  she  knew  he  was  praying.  Once  more 
he  roused  himself ;  but  it  was  with  a  strong  effort. 


318  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  said ;  "  it  has  been  seven  years — nearly 
seven  years  ;  thank  God  for  those  seven  years  !  " 

Then  he  added  anxiously,  as  the  door  opened,  and  the 
sound  of  the  doctor's  returning  feet  was  heard  : — 

"  Don't  go ;  don't  leave  me ;  keep  close  to  me, 
Irene." 

"  Only  to  go  and  do  what  you  wish,  darling  ;  and  then 
I  will  come  back." 

How  strength  comes  to  the  weakest  in  hours  like 
this.  With  a  heart  aching,  and  a  spirit  crushed — as 
none  can  tell  except  those  who  have  gone  through  the 
like — Irene  went  calmly  on  her  way ;  told  Forster  of  her 
husband's  wishes  ;  and  went  to  the  little  room  adjoining 
Philip's,  which,  in  old  times,  had  been  Rosie's,  to  gather 
up  her  strength,  for  what  she  felt  was  coming,  from  the 
treasure-house  of  God's  unfailing  grace.  She  went  to 
the  Cross  of  Jesus  for  the  power  she  wanted  to  bear  this 
heavy  one  that  He  laid  on  her  ;  and  she  prayed,  with  all 
the  fervour  of  a  heart  whose  every  throb  was  agony — 
"  If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass ;  but  not  my  will, 
but  Thine,  blessed  Jesus,  be  done." 

Mrs.  Mason  came  to  her,  and  Mary  Williamson,  en- 
treating her  to  take  something  to  help  her  to  bear  the 
coming  night  of  watching.  She  did  not  resist ;  and 
returned  to  Philip's  side. 

The  wound  in  Philip's  arm  was  probed  and  dressed ; 
and  found  to  be  of  less  moment  than  had  at  first  been 
supposed.  Had  that  been  all,  there  would  have  been 
hope ;  but  it  was  not  all  Soon  after  midnight  Irene 
withdrew  into  the  adjoining  room,  while  the  Liverpool 
surgeon  and  Mr.  West  made  their  examination.  She 
was  kneeling  all  the  time,  in  sight  of  the  bed  through  the 
open  door ;  but  her  face  was  buried  in  her  hands.  It 


"DE  PROFUNTJIS."  319 

was  not  long  before  she  heard  a  footstep  ;  and,  looking 
up,  saw  it  was  Mr.  Byron  and  Forster  Williamson. 

She  could  scarcely  articulate  the  words  which  rose  to 
her  pale  lips — 

"  Is  there  any  hope  ?  " 

Forster  turned  away,  that  she  might  not  see  his  face, 
which  was  convulsed  with  grief;  but  Mr.  Byron  answered 
by  raising  Irene  from  her  kneeling  position,  and,  putting 
her  gently  on  the  sofa,  said  : — 

"  We  fear  more  than  we  hope,  Mrs.  Dennistoun." 

"  Thank  you,  for  telling  me  the  truth,"  she  said  ;  "  is 
there  nothing  to  be  done  1 "  she  added,  with  a  helpless 
pathos  in  her  voice,  which  went  to  the  doctor's  heart. 

"The  spine  is  so  seriously  injured,  that  the  lower  limbs 
are  already  paralysed.  Even  if  life  were  spared,  this 
must  always  remain  unaltered,"  he  said. 

Irene  asked  no  more  questions ;  but,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  the  doctor,  said  : — 

"  I  will  go  back  to  him  now.  Forster,  don't  grieve  too 
much  for  me  ;  and,  oh  !  don't  grieve  for  him." 

For  poor  Forster  had  broken  down,  and  could  not 
repress  his  sobs. 

"Go  and  see  Jasper,"  she  said;  "and  tell  him;  and 
give  him  my  love." 

Then  she  went  quietly  back  to  her  husband  ;  and  his 
large,  earnest  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her. 

"  You  have  sent  for  the  clergyman,  Irene ;  who  is 
come  1 " 

"  Mr.  Bolton  heard  of  this,  and  he  is  here ;  and  Mr. 
Wyse,  too  ;  but  I  telegraphed  for  Mr.  Vernon." 

"  If  I  thought  I  should  have  my  senses,  I  would  wait 
till  the  morning ;  and  Mr.  Vernon  might  come  by  the 
night  mail  Is  it  safe  to  wait,  Mr.  West  ] " 


320  HEIGHTS    AND   VALLEYS. 

Mr.  "West  parried  the  question ;  lie  was  not  so  straight- 
forward  as  Mr.  Byron. 

"  Well ;  I  trust  so,"  he  answered ;  "  your  pulse  is 
even  now  a  little  stronger." 

Philip  smiled. 

"I  will  not  run  any  risk,"  he  said.  "Mr.  "Vernon 
may  yet  come  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say ;  but,  Irene, 
let  us  have  the  service  now." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  if  you  wish ; "  and  she  went  to  call  the 
clergyman,  and  to  warn  the  old  Warden  that  he  must 
try  to  be  as  calm  as  possible. 

She  was  returning  from  her  mission,  when,  coming 
down  the  dimly  lighted  corridor,  from  the  opposite  wing 
of  the  house,  she  saw  Jasper,  in  a  long  dressing-gown, 
with  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  walking  unsteadily  towards  her. 

"  I  want  to  see  him  ;  I  must  see  him,"  he  said.  "He 
shall  not  die.  I  shall  send  for  Paget  and  Ferguson, 
from  London.  What  do  these  doctors  know  1  He  shall 
live." 

"  Hush,  Jasper,"  said  Irene,  firmly  ;  "  you  must  not 
talk  so.  You  are  not  fit  to  leave  your  bed  ;  you  will  be 
very  ill,  if  you  do.  Go  back  with  Forrest." 

"  I  won't  go  back.  Oh  !  Irene,  Irene,  would  that  I 
had  died  !  What  did  he  jump  in  after  me  for  ?  My  life 
was  not  worth  saving  ;  and  he — oh !  Philip — my  best, 
and  truest,  and  most  generous  friend — he  shall  not  die 
for  me ! " 

"  He  is  out  of  his  head,  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Mason  ; 
"  I  must  take  him  back  ;  Dr.  Simpson  said  he  was  to  be 
kept  very  quiet." 

"  Jasper,"  Irene  said,  firmly  taking  the  thin,  almost 
feminine,  hand  in  hers,  "  I  know  you  love  Philip ;  you 
would  not  wish  to  disturb  him  now.  If  you  can  be 


"DE  PKOFUXDIS."  321 

quite  calm,  I  will  call  you  to  the  service,  which,  we  are 
going  to  have  directly ;  and  you  shall  see  Philip.  Come 
into  the  sitting-room,  and  lie  down  till  then." 

He  made  no  further  resistance  ;  and  let  her  lead  him. 
to  the  sofa,  where  she  covered  him  with  wraps,  and  left 
him  to  Mrs.  Mason.  In  half  an  hour  all  was  ready ;  and, 
faithful  to  her  promise,  Irene  went  for  Sir  Jasper. 

"  Can  you  be  quite  calm  ]  "  she  asked. 

"  I  will  try ;  but  is  it  the  Communion  ?  I  never 
received  it  in  my  life." 

"Then  begin  now,"  she  said,  solemnly;  "begin  now  a 
new  life,  at  the  gate  of  another  world." 

Like  a  poor  stricken  creature,  Sir  Jasper  followed 
Irene,  and  knelt  where  she  told  him  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  The  glance  he  gave  towards  Philip  reassured  him. 
As  he  lay,  propped  up  with  pillows,  his  face  settled  into 
a  holy  resolution ;  there  was  nothing  in  him  unlike  the 
Philip  he  knew  in  health. 

"  His  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel,"  Mr.  Bolton 
said  to  himself,  as  he  controlled  his  voice  by  a  strong 
effort,  and  began  the  words  of  the  service. 

When  it  was  over,  Philip,  to  Irene's  surprise,  said — 

"  Let  Jasper  come  nearer." 

She  had  not  thought  he  had  observed  his  entrance. 
She  touched  his  shoulder  ;  and,  bending  over  him,  said — 

"  Philip  wants  you.     Do  not  give  way." 

He  tottered  to  his  feet,  and  went  up  to  the  head  of  the 
bed. 

"  Jasper  !"  and  the  tone  was  one  of  mingled  tenderness 
and  sympathy,  which  he  might  have  used  when  speaking 
to  his  own  little  Philip  in  some  childish  trouble  ;  "  Jasper, 
I  am  very  sorry  for  you.  I  know  you  feel  this  ;  but  you 
must  take  comfort,  and  remember  it  is  not  our  will,  but 

y 


322  HEIGIITS   AND   VALLEYS. 

GOD'S,  that  I  should  die.  Hush!" — for  Jasper's  con- 
vulsive sobbing  broke  forth — "  Hush  !  I  want  to  ask 
you  to  be  kind  to  my  boy  and  his  little  sisters  and  to  their 
mother.  I  want  you,  too,  not  to  forget  those  poor  people 
in  London  amongst  whom  I  have  worked  a  little,  and 
to  help  my  friend  Mr.  Yernon  in  his  heavy  labours. 
Above  all,  Jasper,  I  want  you  to  love  GOD  and  serve 
Him,  and  administer  the  riches  He  has  given  you  well. 
Good-bye,  Jasper ;  I  am  tired  now,  I  think.  Good-bye, 
and  may  God  bless  you  !" 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  I  hope  I  shan't  live  long  !  I 
wish  I  was  in  your  place  now.  Why  am  I  not  1  But  I 
will  do  as  you  wish  while  I  live.  Oh,  thank  you  for  all 
you  have  done  for  me !  It  half  kills  me  to  think  how 
little  I  have  deserved  it." 

"  It  must  be  good-bye  now,  Jasper,"  Irene  said ;  for 
she  heard  a  tired  sigh  escape  from  her  husband's  lips. 

Jasper  covered  the  hand  which  lay  nearest  him  with 
kisses  ;  and  then  Forster  Williamson  half  carried  him 
away. 

The  ways  of  God  are  mysterious ;  and  poor  Irene's 
heart  might  well  ask,  "  Why  is  he  left,  and  Philip,  in  all 
the  energy  and  pride  of  his  manhood,  taken  away  ] " 

There  was  no  answer,  then ;  but  God  will  give  Irene 
an  answer  in  His  own  good  time. 

The  night-watches  dragged  heavily  onward.  Some- 
times, in  his  short,  fitful  sleep,  Philip  wandered.  Irene 
caught  the  words  as  they  fell  from  his  lips,  and  treasured 
them  in  her  heart :  the  wanderings  were  so  entirely 
glimpses  of  the  inner  life  of  that  noble  spirit  which  was 
now  passing  away  from  her.  He  talked  of  the  snow- 
mountains  and  the  glaciers  ;  of  steep  ascents  and  toilsome 
upward  paths ;  of  the  glory  of  rose-coloured  sunsets  on 


"DE  PROFUNDIS."  323 

the  pure  snow.  He  talked  of  Mercy  Place  and  the  people 
there ;  of  noble  efforts  to  bring  beauty  into  those  sad 
and  darkened  lives ;  of  the  power  of  the  Name,  which  is 
above  every  name,  to  change  the  aspect  of  life — even  in 
Mercy  Place.  Once  she  heard  him  murmur,  "  I  tried  to 
mount  on  eagle's  wings,  and  I  went  back.  I  must  not 
press  on  too  hard  :  I  must  wait.  Irene  told  me  so." 

Towards  dawn  he  became  weaker  and  very  restless ; 
he  was  oppressed  with  the  sound  of  rushing  waters,  and 
entreated  her  to  take  him  out  of  the  noise.  The  doctors 
had  come  in  and  out  through  the  night,  and  Mrs.  Mason 
and  Mary  Williamson  sat  in  the  adjoining  room  ;  but  he 
took  no  longer  notice  of  any  but  Irene. 

All  the  next  day  his  life  ebbed  fast ;  and  when  Mr. 
Yernon  and  George  Sandford  arrived,  in  answer  to  the 
messages  which  Irene  had  sent,  he  seemed  scarcely  to 
recognise  them.  Once,  when  Mr.  Vernon  prayed  by  his 
side,  he  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  friendly  greeting,  and 
whispered — 

"  I  am  glad  you  came." 

But  that  was  all.  It  was  a  dark  and  cloudy  day,  and 
the  atmosphere  was  heavy  and  oppressive;  but  about  sun- 
set the  sky  cleared  and  the  sun  sent  a  parting  glory  over 
the  moors  and  hills  and  woods,  and  illuminated  the 
sombre  walls  of  the  west  side  of  Rockdeane  with  unwonted 
brightness.  The  window  looking  over  the  stream,  now 
hushed  again  to  its  old  quiet  music,  was  open,  and  a  ray 
of  sunlight  coming  into  the  room,  lighted  up  the  face  of 
Sir  Philip  Dennistoun,  as  he  kept  watch  over  the  bed 
where  the  other  Philip  lay. 

Irene  did  not  think  her  husband  was  conscious  at  that 
moment  of  any  outward  thing  ;  but  she  was  startled  by 
his  voice,  saying — 

Y  2 


324  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  Look  at  Sir  Philip,  Irene  !" 

A  bright  light,  but  not  of  this  world,  was  in  his  face 
as  he  spoke;  and  the  resemblance  between  the  two 
faces  was  striking ;  and  then  she  heard  him  say,  more 
faintly, — 

"  Eagle's  wings  ! " 

She  seemed  to  understand  his  wish ;  for  she  repeated 
the  familiar  words,  with  an  unfaltering  voice, — 

"They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord,  shall  renew  their 
strength ;  they  shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles ; 
they  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary ;  and  they  shall  walk, 
and  not  faint ! " 

His  eyes  turned  from  the  picture,  and  fastened  on 
Irene.  She  saw  that  the  light  had  faded,  and  that  a 
grey  shadow  was  creeping  over  the  face  she  loved — as 
only  women  like  Irene  can  love.  Half-unconsciously  she 
went  on, — 

"  Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ; "  and  then,  as  he  pressed  her 
hand  tight,  as  if  to  acknowledge  that  he  heard  and  was 
comforted,  she  repeated  favourite  words  of  his,  taken 
from  a  Bible  history  she  had  often  heard  him  read  and 
dwell  upon, — 

"  From  the  top  of  the  rocks  I  see  Him,  and  from  the 
hills  I  behold  Him." 

"  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my 
last  end  be  like  his." 

She  knew  that  he  was  leaving  her  now ;  but  she  would 
not  move,  or  relax  her  hold  of  his  hand,  to  call  anyone  to 
come. 

Once  more  he  spoke — "  Irene,"  as  if  he  were  seeking 
her. 

"  I  am  here,  darling." 


"DE  PROFUNDIS."  325 

"  I  shall  see  Him  soon.     It  is  not  so  dark  now." 

Then  he  shut  his  eyes,  and  his  head  turned  towards 
her  on  the  pillow,  with  the  gesture  of  a  tired  child 
falling  asleep.  The  breathing  became  slower  and  slower; 
then  it  ceased — and  he  was  gone  ! 

Irene  knelt  on.  She  knew  that  it  was  Death  ;  but  so 
serene  was  the  mouth,  so  untroubled  the  noble  brow, 
beneath  which  the  dark  lashes  were  lying  so  quietly  over 
those  closed  eyes,  on  the  cheek  where  the  colour  yet 
lingered,  that,  but  for  the  terrible  stillness,  which  is  like 
nothing  else  in  the  world,  he  might  have  only  fallen 
asleep.  Why  do  I  say  might  have  fallen  asleep  ;  for  was 
not  Philip's  the  sleep  of  God's  beloved,  which  shall  know 
no  waking  till  the  great  Easter  morning  when  all  that 
sleep  in  Jesus  shall  rise  to  a  glorious  immortality  ? 

They  came  soon,  and  led  her  gently  away.  She  shed 
no  tears,  and  made  no  sign  of  grief.  Others  wept  around 
her,  but  she  was  calm.  Her  eyes  had  in  them  a  wistful, 
earnest  expression,  which  seemed  to  pierce  the  veil,  and 
follow  him  where  he  was  gone. 

"I  should  like  to  see  our  children,"  was  almost  the 
first  thing  she  said,  "  if  Rosie  and  Mrs.  Dennistoun  can 
bring  them.  I  want  them  now." 

"  You  shall  have  them,  dear  Irene,"  George  Sandford 
said.  "  Anything  we  can  do  for  you  we  will." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said,  and  her  lip  quivered.  "Philip 
is  old  enough  to  understand.  Philip  !  Philip  !  " 

She  repeated  the  name  slowly  and  tenderly,  but  no 
tears  came,  as  they  hoped. 

"  One  thing  more,  George.  I  wish  him  to  be  buried 
in  Hildyard's  Chapel,  as  near  the  other  Philip  as 
possible." 

She  lay  back  in  the  chair  \vhere  they  had  placed  her, 


326  HEIGHTS   AND   VALLEYS. 

and  continued  that  silent  gaze,  which  seemed  to  grow- 
more  intense  every  moment ;  she  wished  to  be  alone, 
she  said  ;  and,  when  her  sister  had  helped  her  to  undress, 
Irene  kissed  her  affectionately,  and  whispered, 

"I  hope  you  will  have  a  good  night;  you  must  be 
tired." 

"  Let  me  stay  with  you,  dear  Irene  ;  please  do." 

"  I  would  rather  be  alone,  if  you  don't  mind — quite 
alone." 

As  her  sister  was  leaving  the  room,  she  called  her  : — 
"  Mary,  don't  think  I  am  unkind  ;  but  I  shall  feel  nearer 
to  God,  and  to  him,  if  no  one  else  is  with  me.  Cuthbert 
and  he  have  met,  I  know,  and  our  mother.  Dear 
Cuthbert !  "  she  added,  as  her  sister's  tears  burst  forth 
again  at  the  sound  of  her  boy's  name.  "  Do  not  cry  so 
bitterly,  Mary;  they  are  only  gone  first.  He  told 
me  to  try  to  remember  he  was  only  gone  Jtrst.  Good 
night !  " 

Her  sister  returned,  and  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 
Irene  kissed  her  again  and  again,  in  her  own  quiet  and 
gentle  way;  but  she  said  no  more.  And  so  they  left  her, 
as  she  wished,  alone. 

"  This  unnatural  calm  !  How  long  will  it  last1? "  they 
said  to  each  other,  as  the  days  went  by,  and  still  no 
change.  Rosie  and  her  mother  and  Jasper  and  the 
children  came ;  but  though  Irene  pressed  her  little  ones 
to  her  heart,  she  did  not  weep.  Day  after  day  she  sat  in 
that  hushed  and  silent  room,  holding  communion  with 
the  dead,  and  praying  there  such  prayers  as  only  hearts 
so  stricken  and  bereaved  can  understand. 

On  the  third  day  Irene  led  little  Philip  to  look  on  his 
father's  face,  so  beautiful  in  its  last  long  sleep  that  she 
knew  the  child  could  have  no  shrinking  from  it.  The 


"DE  PROFUNDIS."  327 

boy  pressed  his  mother's  hand  tight,  but  laid  the  flower 
she  gave  him  on  the  quiet  breast,  and  whispered, 

"  Mother,  papa  is  asleep.  I  can't  think  why  he  does 
not  wake.  Has  God  sent  him  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  darling,"  his  mother  said,  struck  by  the 
child's  words  ;  "  yes,  but  papa  will  wake  again." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  Philip  said  ;  "  I  want  him  so." 

Then  came  a  little  broken  sob,  and  Irene  took  him  to 
her  heart,  and  comforted  him. 

They  laid  Philip  to  rest  in  the  antique  chapel,  with 
none  of  the  distressing  pageantry  of  woe  which  had 
marked  the  last  funeral  there ;  but  all  that  could  suggest 
the  bright  hope  of  immortality  through  Him  who  had 
overcome  death  took  its  place.  Hymns  were  sung,  which 
told  of  rest  from  labour,  and  the  endless  joy  of  the 
redeemed ;  flowers  were  laid  upon  the  coffin  by  loving 
hands  ;  and  the  promise  of  never-withering  flowers,  and 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead  and  the  life  everlasting,  was 
brought  home  to  aching  hearts. 

Those  who  saw  Irene  stand  at  her  husband's  grave  will 
never  forget  it. 

Her  tearless  face  was  very  pale,  and  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  together.  A  long-lingering  glance  of  farewell, 
and  then  she  suffered  Forster  Williamson  to  lead  her 
gently  away.  As  she  passed  Sir  Philip  and  Dame 
Editha's  tomb,  she  looked  up  at  it.  Then,  by  some 
unexplained  and  mysterious  touch  of  association,  there 
rushed  upon  her  the  memory  of  that  autumn  day,  long 
years  ago,  when  she  had  seen  her  Philip  standing  there, 
on  that  very  spot,  in  all  the  pride  and  vigour  of  his 
manhood.  The  contrast  between  that  day  and  this,  broke 
suddenly  the  ice-bound  current  of  her  tears.  As  her 
brother-in-law  put  her  into  the  carriage,  the  long-denied 


328  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

relief  was  granted ;  and  she  lay  down  in  her  bed  that 
night,  with  her  baby  in  her  arras,  and,  by  God's  great 
mercy,  wept  herself  to  sleep.  The  next  morning  Irene 
awoke  to  the  full  blank  and  loneliness  of  her  life ;  but 
she  knew  her  Philip  had  reached  the  Highest  now  ;  and, 
though  she  was  left  in  the  valley,  it  was  not  as  one 
without  hope,  and  she  set  herself  to  tread  her  solitary 
way  in  faith  and  patience. 

Those  who  are  unselfish  in  joy  are  unselfish  in  grief; 
and  we  commonly  see  those  whose  loss  is  the  greatest,  rise 
out  of  themselves  much  sooner  than  is  expected  of  them, 
after  some  great  bereavement.  Such  grief  as  Irene's  does 
not  find  its  consolation  in  the  width  of  the  black  border  on 
cards  and  paper,  and  other  outward  signs  of  woe,  but 
rather  in  the  effort  to  forget  self  in  the  living,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  dead. 

Philip  had  left  Irene  sole  guardian  and  trustee  for  his 
children,  and  everything  was  absolutely  hers.  It  seemed 
to  please  and  comfort  poor  Sir  Jasper,  that  she  should 
stay  at  Rodham ;  and,  indeed,  there  were  no  ties  or  links 
with  Philip  so  strong  as  those  she  found  in  the  place 
where  he  died  and  was  buried.  So  she  determined  to 
remain  there,  where  his  name  was  loved  and  honoured ; 
and  all  her  books  and  furniture,  dear  to  her  from  asso- 
ciation with  the  happy  years  of  her  married  life,  were 
brought  from  her  London  home,  and  gathered  around 
her  in  a  house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where  she 
was  settled  with  her  children  before  winter  came  on. 

Sir  Jasper  was  very  ill  after  the  shock  of  Philip's 
death,  and  his  lungs  were  so  seriously  affected,  that  he 
was  sent  to  Algiei-s  by  the  London  doctors  for  the 
winter. 

Rockdeane  was  shut  up,  and  deserted,  except  by  Forrest 


"  DE   PROFUNDIS."  329 

and  Mrs.  Mason  ;  and  there  were  some  who  said  Sir 
Jasper  would  never  return  to  it.  He  wrote  often  to 
Irene,  and  her  only  difficulty  was  to  prevent  his  being 
too  lavish  in  his  gifts  to  her  and  her  children  ;  while  Mr. 
Vernon  received  enough  to  carry  on  all  that  Philip  had 
begun  in  his  poor  and  destitute  parish. 

Mrs.  Dennistoun  had  no  longer  any  restrictions  placed 
upon  her,  and  she  saw  her  son  Jasper  entered  at  Oxford, 
with  a  liberal  allowance ;  while  the  seed  that  had  been 
sown  by  Philip's  hand,  in  the  apparently  hopeless  ground 
of  Jasper's  heart,  bore  its  fruit. 

Memories  of  his  brother's  example  and  care  for  him, 
seemed  to  have  their  effect,  now  that  he  was  taken 
from  him  for  ever ;  and  he  did  well  at  the  University, 
and  showed  a  perseverance  and  steadiness  which  had  never 
been  expected  of  him. 

In  George  Sandford's  happy  home,  Philip's  memory  was 
also  held  in  honour  and  reverence.  Rosie  gave  her  first- 
born son  his  name ;  and  tears  would  often  dim  her  bright 
eyes,  as  she  told  his  grandmother  and  indulgent  father 
that  her  boy  must  never  be  spoiled;  he  must  be 
made  worthy  of  the  name  he  bore — Philip  Dennistoun 
Sandford. 

Sir  Jasper  did  not  return  to  Rockdeane  for  the  sum- 
mer, nor  for  several  summers. 

One  day,  when  little  Philip  was  just  nine  years  old, 
he  was  walking  by  his  mother's .  side,  through  the  woods 
of  Rockdeane  ;  he  stopped  suddenly — 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  I  heard  nurse  say  to-day  that 
I  should  be  master  of  Rockdeane  veiy  soon,  for  Sir 
Jasper  would  never  come  home,  and  that  I  was  his  heir. 
I  would  rather  be  my  father's  heir  than  his." 

"  You  are  heir  to  your  father's  name,  dear  Philip,  a 


330  HEIGHTS  AND   VALLEYS. 

name  which  is  better  than  riches.  If  it  pleases  God  that 
Sir  Jasper  dies,  and  he  has  no  little  son  of  his  own,  you 
will  inherit  his  title  and  estates.  But  Philip,  when  papa 
was  on  earth,  he  was  always  trying  to  remember  the 
words  which  are  cut  in  stone  under  the  old  eagle,  over 
the  Almshouse  gateway.  You  know  what  words  those 
are." 

"Yes;  you  told  me,  'Ad  Ccelum,'  They  are  on  that 
seal  of  father's  that  you  gave  me  on  my  birthday,"  Philip 
said  quickly. 

"  Yes ;  and  they  were  his  watchword  in  life,  and  in 
death.  It  was  always  heavenwards  with  him.  Philip, 
he  asked  me,  when  he  was  dying,  to  teach  you  their 
full  meaning.  Day  by  day,  and  year  by  year,  as  you 
grow  older,  I  must  try  more  and  more  to  do  so.  And  then, 
whether  God  sets  your  feet  in  high  places  of  the  earth,  or 
lets  you  tread  a  much  humbler  path,  it  must  be  right ; 
you  will  grow  to  be  a  great  man,  and  not  unworthy  to 
bear  the  family  motto,  and  your  father's  name." 

And  the  boy  looked  up  at  his  mother  with  his  earnest 
eyes,  and  said  firmly,  and  with  all  the  resolution  of  the 
father  of  whom  they  spoke — 

"  I  will  try,  mother,  I  will  indeed  ;  I  will  try  to  be 
what  my  father  was,  and  I  will  ask  God  to  help  me." 

Then  the  mother  and  son  walked  home  together.  The 
child  was  soon  whistling  gaily  in  his  boyish  fashion  again, 
and  disappearing  every  now  and  then  amongst  the  bracken 
and  heather  of  the  Park,  for  some  treasure  of  nuts  and 
blackberries  to  carry  home  to  his  sisters,  while  the  mother 
was  left  to  her  communion  with  the  Past. 

How  can  I  better  expi-ess  the  thoughts  which  filled  her 
heart  on  that  bright  autumn  day,  than  by  the  words  of 
a  poet  of  our  own  time.  How  can  I  better  tell  of  the 


"  DE   PKOFUNDIS."  331 

hope  and  the  faith  which  were  as  an  atmosphere  in  which 
she  lived  to  that  sweet  and  gentle  woman,  who  went 
about  on  her  ministry  of  love  day  by  day  ;  who  brought  her 
children  to  taste  the  peace  she  knew  for  herself  to  pass  un- 
derstanding; who  was,  as  in  earlier  days,  known  amongst 
the  sick,  and  the  old,  and  the  poor  as  an  angel  of  consola- 
tion and  help.  Yes,  better  than  any  words  of  mine,  are 
these  with  which  I  close  the  story  of  Irene's  life,  as  far 
as  I  can  follow  it — better  than  any  words  of  mine  or 
any  paean  of  praise  that  I  can  sing,  is  the  "  Psalm"  which, 
if  I  mistake  not,  will  find  its  echo  in  many  a  heart 
whose  spring-time  is  over,  and  whose  summer  is  ended  ; 
but  who,  from  the  calm  stillness  of  an  autumn  filled 
with  the  gifts  of  God,  can  yet  thank  Him  and  take 
courage  : — 


"  The  air  of  spring  may  never  play 

Among  the  ripening  corn  ; 
Nor  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  May 
Blow  through  the  autumn  morn. 

"  Yet  shall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 

Through  fringed  lids  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  aster,  in  the  brook, 
Shall  see  its  image  given. 

"  The  woods  shall  wear  their  robes  of  praise, 

The  south  winds  softly  sigh  ; 
And  sweet  calm  days,  in  golden  haze, 
Melt  down  the  amber  sky. 

"  Not  less  shall  manly  deed  and  word 

Rebuke  an  age  of  wrong  ; 
The  grass  and  flowers  that  wreath  the  sward 
Make  not  the  blade  less  strong. 


332  HEIGHTS  AND  VALLEYS. 

"  Enough,  that  blessings  undeserved 
Have  marked  my  erring  track  ; 
That,  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved, 
His  chastening  led  me  back. 

"  That  more  and  more  a  Providence 

Of  Love  is  understood  : 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense 
Sweet  with  eternal  good. 

"  That  Death  seems  but  a  covered  way 

Which  opens  into  light — 
Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  stray 
Beyond  the  Father's  sight. 

"  That  care  and  trial,  seen  at  last 
Through  memory's  sunset  air, 
Like  mountain-ranges,  overpast, 
In  purple  distance  fair. 

"  That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 

Seem  blending  in  a  psalm  ; 

And  all  the  angles  of  its  strife 

Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

"  And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 
And  so  the  west  winds  play, 
And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 
I  open  to  the  day." 

WHITTIEK. 


C.  A.  Macintosh,  Printer,  Great  Kew-street,  London. 


